


there’s no way out (but down)

by ohpleaselarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bellyfucking, Blood, Blowjobs, Crying, Death, Depression, Dom!Harry, Dom/sub, Famous!Louis, Fingerfucking, Flying, Gore, Hidden Relationship, Jealousy, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, Light Bondage, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Magic AU, Magic!Harry, Magical Elements, MedStudent!Harry, Mpreg Kink, Overstimulation, Restraining, Rimming, Soulmates, Soulmates AU, Strangers to Lovers, Sub!Louis, Subspace, Suicidal Tendencies, Top!Harry, Wallfucking, bottom!Louis, but her and Harry are friends bc I can’t imagine her as anything but sweet irl, canon themes such as beard!eleanor, domestication kink, handjobs, singer!louis, temporary major character death, tw’s in note PLS READ THEM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 100,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: When Harry had woken up that first day with a light tingling in his fingers, maybe he should have known something was going to go wrong.Now, sat in an empty field in fucking nowhere America, covered in blood, he realises he couldn’t save everyone. He knows his limits, has had them drilled into his head from the moment he was old enough to retain words. He knows he shouldn’t mess with the natural order of things. He knows that what will happen will happen one way or another either way.And yet, he can’t control himself. For the third time, he settles his hands on Louis Tomlinson’s still heart and wills it to beat once more.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 37
Kudos: 140





	1. the firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme start off by saying pls don’t copy or repost this work anywhere. I put a ton of fuckin time and sweat into this and seeing my works stolen is a huge downer, especially since posting the link as a rec is so much easier and respectable. If you have any questions, the comments, my insta dms(ohpleaselarry), and my email(ohpleaselarry@gmail.com) are all open. While we’re on the topic, if anyone sees my works on any other site or under any other name pls let me know. I only write under ohpleaselarry, and I only post my fics here. Thanks guys.
> 
> So i started this thinking it’d be another 20k regular, and definitely was NOT expecting 100k. It’s officially now the longest fic I’ve posted on this site! I usually have my fics a one chapter all in one go thing, but bc it’s so long I’ve cut it down to about <20k per chapter, just so it’s easier to read haha. 
> 
> This fic has a bit of everything. D/s, magic, canon themes, soulmates, etc and that’s probably why it’s so damn long. Not only is it so damn long, but I wrote it so damn quickly. I had the idea for magic!harry while writing my last fic, but I didn’t have anything else plot wise to work with. All I knew is I wanted his gift to be a strange mix of pretty much everyone from umbrella academy and Theo from haunting of hill house. I literally just started writing without a single clue where I was going with it and sort of never stopped. All of that and I somehow still passed my finals halfway through lmao wtf?
> 
> Some warnings: I admittedly haven’t written much d/s, let alone kink negotiation or magic for that matter, so there’s a full scene with subspace and restraining without prior negotiation. Pls don’t do this irl. I feel like that should be a given but ya know. Another thing: not really a warning per say but the word “mortal” in this fic is used more loosely than its exact definition. Think of the word mortal sort of like the word muggle in this if that helps explain it! 
> 
> Trigger ⚠️ warnings: there are multiple instances of blood, death, and gore. It is very descriptively written as well. I chose not to put major character death as a warning since the death isn’t permanent, but it still exists. There is also depression and suicidal language/thoughts. Lastly, Louis’ very real family losses are talked about. so if any of these are triggers pls steer clear!!
> 
> Title from Billie Eilish’s ‘listen before I go’, as it was the original inspiration for the fic. 
> 
> Enjoy 😊

They’d met on a Friday.

Harry, knackered from his Anatomy II midterm, nearly didn’t accompany Niall to the pub. The lad had started a mission at the beginning of the semester to have a drink from every optional spot before Christmas.

There’s a lot of places to buy alcohol in London.

“You’re grumpy now, but we’re halfway through the semester, mate, I gotta visit at least three hotspots daily!”

“We’re going to get alcohol poisoning.” Harry complains, tilting to the side so his head falls against the cool glass of the car. It’s really fucking cold against his head, but he doesn’t even need to lift a finger to warm it up.

“It’ll be _fun_ , H. Why don’t you find someone nice to snog, yeah?” Niall’s voice goes all soothing like it does when he brings up ‘finding someone’. As if Harry’s looking.

As if his last breakup didn’t go so fucking badly that his ex boyfriend now sits in a prison for the criminally insane on some island a few kilometres off the coast of Ireland.

“That’s alright. I don’t wanna ditch you.” Harry says, his classic excuse. Niall smiles in understanding and pats his shoulder, except he doesn’t really understand. Not in the way Harry wishes he could. Not in the way only two people in this entire universe know.

“Okay, we’re here. It’s a bit posh, but I refuse to skip any.” Niall pays the cabbie, climbing out into the cold October air.

“As long as I don’t get another guy in a suit offering me the position of his sugar baby.” Harry sighs, tangling his fingers with Niall’s as they flash their IDs and step inside the club. Touching him, Harry can feel Niall’s excitement, his hope to find a pretty lady to talk to, his worry about his mum’s hayfever, his worry about Harry. A lot of worry about Harry. It’s freshest in his mind after that conversation they’d just had.

It only takes a moment to make his worry fade. As the seconds pass, Niall’s grin grows stronger, and they sit at the bar, ordering Vodka tonics. Harry pulls his hand away once he’s satisfied, but Niall doesn’t let him go without a squeeze.

Niall doesn’t know he’s having magic done to him. Of course, how would he?He’d only asked about the hand holding once, years back, in the midst of their a-levels, sat in a park studying.

“ _Is it, like, for comfort? If you want a hug—“_

_“It’s not like that,” Harry had interrupted, hand still in his, “I just like to know you’re alright. It helps me feel, like, stable.”_

It had been vague, but Niall had never asked about it again. Sometimes, even he will be the one who reaches in, hands shaky the day of a big exam, or during a particularly sad movie scene, and will hold his hand right back.

Over the years, it stopped being Harry’s thing and just became their thing. Sometimes, he doesn’t even use it to read Niall or calm his ever racing head. Sometimes it’s just nice to have that physical touch.

After Ben, Harry used it a lot. Read Niall’s emotions so deeply to the point that he was leeching them for himself, because Niall’s worries were a thousand times better than the emptiness he was feeling those first few weeks.

It’s been ten months, and the dull ache is yet to leave.

“This place is definitely better than the last upper end one. Remember that Richard guy?”

“It wasn’t Richard. His name was legitimately Dick.” Harry smiles, lifting the alcohol to his mouth. The extremely light tingle in his fingers from this morning starts to increase incrementally. He ignores it, gulping the cold burning liquid down his throat.

“Fitting. Dunno why anyone would look at the two of us and assume we’re in the market for a threesome.” Niall’s glancing around the room, trying to be subtle about it, but it’s clear what he wants.

“Redhead down the bar is checking you out.” Harry says. Niall turns back to him, casually looking down the bar. He grins.

“Hot?”

“Yep. Not slutty, either. She seems sweet. Long Island ice tea, by the looks of it. She isn’t openly staring, either, but she can’t stop looking back.”

“Shy, then?”

“Definitely. Ask her if she’d like to dance. Tell her you’re shit at it so she doesn’t feel embarrassed.”

“Thanks, H. I’ll convince her to come to the next pub with us.” He downs the rest of his drink, leaning in to plop a kiss on his cheek.

“You could take her home, instead. Just give the signal and I’ll head on out.”

“Harry—“

“I’m serious, you deserve a nice night. Don’t think about me, I’m alright.” He smiles, a genuine one, and Niall smiles right back.

“Love you.” He says, barely audible over the music, then slides off of the stool, making his way over to the redhead.

Harry tunes out the rest of the club, superhearing as Niall opens up. He watches the girl smile, cheeks flushing, hand reaching up to touch her glasses as Niall chats her up. She’s going to go home with him, Harry knows.

He smiles and mostly mutes them out, turning back to his drink. Niall really does deserve a good time. He hasn’t gone out in ages, stuck at home with coursework or Harry work.

He finishes his drink, and fully intends to just go ahead and head out, but his hands shake and fully freeze, the tingling turning into heat. A sizzle, almost. It isn’t painful, but it’s a bit startling.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels the urge to look up, down the bar, the opposite direction of where Niall sits.

Three seats down, a man and a woman sit together. There’s people all over the place, but Harry can’t look away from the pair. The male looks to be around his age, a bit scruffy, his hair swooping over his forehead in a soft fringe. He’s mid-laugh, smile dazzling and eyes crinkling at the edges. His eyes are clearly blue even with the distance. His thin fingers are wrapped around a tall chute, ink poking out of the sleeve of his jumper, rolled up twice or so.

The girl is probably gorgeous as well, leaning in and covering the man’s face to whisper in his ear. Harry doesn’t bother to listen in to what she’s saying. He only notices her hand, subtly moving over the man’s glass as she raises it to her own hair, tucking it back. Nobody would notice the tab she dropped in as it quickly fizzes to nothing.

Harry only notices because he was already staring at the chute. He doesn’t bother to wonder why he knew it was going to happen. Doesn’t bother to question why he’s being impulsive even as he stands and approaches them. Something he can’t describe just pulls him over, feet moving at their own accord.

Settling a hand on her shoulder, Harry’s given two full seconds of free roam in her head before she’s turned to look at him. It’s plenty of time to rake through her memories and find the information he needs. He almost never does this, specifically going into someone’s head, let alone their memories. It’s a invasion of privacy, of humanity, really. He hates his ability to do so. Has barely ever used it.

Now, he doesn’t think twice.

“Excuse me, do you own the yellow bug outside? Someone’s just back-ended it.” Harry informs. Before he lifts his hand, he wills her to get into the car and go home, forget about this blue eyed boy.

“Oh, shit. Be right back.” She says, scurrying off, her manipulated brain already forgetting any memories of the pretty boy. Harry slides into her spot, and takes the drink right out of blue eye’s hands, reaching over the bar and dumping it into the sink below.

“Oi!” The boy scoffs, voice raspy and light.

“She drugged it. Dropped a tab in while whispering in your ear.” Harry says, and looks up to meet the boy’s eyes, and promptly forgets everything he was thinking at that moment.

His heart suspends, and for one human second that feels like ten for him, he’s frozen. He’s never experienced it before, but he can’t quite describe the feeling that shoots through every fibre of his being, from the top of his head down to the curl of his toes. His magic absolutely thrums in a way that feels almost uncontrollable.

If he were a poet, he might say he’s experiencing love at first sight.

“Fuckin’ hell, really?” The boy is saying in a distinctly northern tongue, eyes leaving his to look off in the direction the girl went. Their eyes aren’t connected anymore, so the intensity of it fades, but Harry still feels winded. Like he’s just run a mile.

The feeling passes, but the warmth from his fingers has now spread all over. He feels almost happy. It’s strange. Now sat together, he can see the tattoos up close. Quotation marks on his wrist, some birds, card classes wrapped around the opposite wrist. Said wrists are a bit dainty. Cute.

“There’s also a guy who’s been watching you this whole time, but I have a feeling you know him.” Harry continues on, not glancing back at the large man who stands against the wall a few metres away. The man is staring at them, but obviously not close enough if he’d missed the potential drugging.

“That’s Paul. He’s m’ stalker, don’t worry about him. I’m gonna order another drink. Promise not to drug it?” The boy orders two drinks, smiling despite the close call. Harry had just been about to get up and go, thinking his job was done.

“Oh, you don’t have to—“ Harry starts as one of the drinks is settled in front of him.

“I insist. You just saved me life, yeah? I’m Louis.” He sticks out a hand.

Louis. _Louis_. The name fits him well. French. Sweet, for some reason. Sweet and sour. Harry feels lightheaded, almost. In a way he’s never felt before.

“Harry.” He says, and attempts to block his magic as their hands touch.

It’s a trick that has always worked without fail. He doesn’t always want to be able to know how people are feeling. Sometimes he likes to feel like an average human. Especially when it’s hot boys in bars.

And yet, his magic soaks in everything the moment they touch. Harry can feel his own smile drop as it flies through him at lightning speed. Everything Louis is feeling in those three seconds they shake hands.

The attraction is first, freshest in his mind. Lust. Usually, they’re followed by worries or happiness or whatever the person defaults to. This person definitely does not default to a positive emotion.

He’s sad in a way that’s almost hard to explain, despite Harry having felt it himself a few times in the last ten months. Emptiness. Just pure nothing.

Then, there’s stress. Weighing him down so much Harry’s surprised he’s even smiling at all. He’s read lawyers, teachers, a mother while her baby is crying. Nobody’s been as stressed as this. Then there’s worry. There’s grief. Confusion. Denial. Adrenaline.

Buried under it all, a spark of joy. It’s light, but it’s there. He’s holding onto it for dear life. The reason he’s able to smile right now. He’s more fucked than Harry is, this one. He’s falling down a pit so deep that magic probably can’t pull him out. He’s in so dark that he’s trying desperately to numb it. Harry can practically taste the nicotine he’s inhaled through the day. Can hear the alcohol from just the night before sloshing through his stomach. There’s something about tonight. There’s something _darkdarkdark_ happening tonight. It would only take a millisecond to read his head and find out what.

Instead, he takes his hand away and curls it back around his glass, plastering on a smile to hide the absolute horror he is feeling.

It was a mere three seconds, and Harry realises just how elementary his own sadness is compared to what he’s just felt. He wasn’t feeling in the mood for a drink tonight, but he downs half the glass immediately, desperately trying to chase away the remnants of this boy’s dark emotional centre. Every time he blinks he sees blood. Dark and sticky, swirling in with water on black concrete. A premonition.

It happens sometimes, though rarely. He will get small flashes of things. He can purposefully reach out and grasp them, see the future as a whole, but he knows it’s not something he should do. He grew up with it drilled into his head. The future can change and bend in an instant, and the moment you meddle with time, it bends just a tad too far.

This fragment of his future, while small, comes without his permission. It’s only unintentionally happened one other time in his life. He’d been in the his first day of year eight, and in the middle of maths, he saw a flash of a patch of flowers. Purple weeds of sorts. When he’d gotten home that day, his parents informed him that his great-grandmother had been in an accident while being transported between two different nursing homes. It had been a drunk driver, t-boned the van carrying the elderly. They’d flipped three times.

After the funeral, they took a drive to that slice of the freeway to place a flower-clad cross in that shoulder of the road. Purple weeds scattered over that grass, the same ones he’d seen the day she’d died.

It’s then, setting his half-empty glass back down, that Harry realises someone is going to die tonight. He doesn’t know who, and he doesn’t _want_ to know. Doesn’t want to give himself the knowledge of who. Because as soon as he knows, he won’t be able to stop himself from trying to deflect it. Death comes eventually, no matter what he does.

“You like this song?” Louis’ voice almost startles him. It’s only been a few seconds, but Harry’s brain moves along quite quickly when he’s on edge like this. His magic moves for him, most of the time.

He zones out of his head and listens to the song. It’s a poppy thing that he couldn’t place if he’d tried.

“It’s alright. I’m, uh, I haven’t been into music in a while, if I’m honest.” Harry huffs a sheepish laugh, blocking out memories of Ben and his guitar before they can even surface.

“I can’t even imagine that, mate. Sorry, but I sort of can’t live without it.” He looks relieved, for some reason. Like Harry not liking music is a good thing, despite what he’s saying.

Harry’s quite good at reading people. His magic has given him that gift with his touch, and after twenty-six years of putting facial expressions to the touch, he mostly doesn’t even need to feel them anymore. Can read it in the twitch up of Louis’ mouth, the barely noticeable sag of his shoulders so they’re not as tense.

“Who’s it by? The song, I mean. I can check it out anyway.” Harry offers, swirling the ice around his drink with his straw. Louis’ looking at his hands while he does it, pupils dilating ever so slightly.

“Some boyband, you wouldn’t know ‘em. Do you want to dance?” Louis’ already turning in his stool to stand, and Harry’s heart skips a bit. Dancing means touching. Touching means _feeling_ him.

“I’m not really a dancer—“

“Just for a bit? I have to leave in ten minutes anyway. Think of it as a goodbye dance, something to remember me by.” Louis’ pointy little teeth sink into his lip in hopefullness, hand offered up.

Above the magic and the darkness and the everything, Harry can’t deny the attraction. His pull towards him. A pull he hasn’t felt really ever. With anyone. Surely it means something, yeah? He should find out what it means. Who knows, maybe this dude’s his soulmate or some other shit fairytale he never believed in that turns out to be real.

“Okay, just ten minutes.” Harry says, and settles his hand in Louis’.

In the two seconds it takes him to turn and stand up from the stool, he lets himself feel the emotions in full. It’s painful. Extremely so. Feelings that Louis’ had probably years to gradually get up to, all at once. On top of his own.

In the seven seconds it takes them to walk to the dance floor, Harry focuses on just one. The attraction. The fundamental emotion of someone who enjoys the company of another. He can’t completely block out another person’s emotions when he’s touching them with bare hands. Would wear gloves all the time if Frozen was never released, throwing him completely under the bus. He’s learned to endure it, instead. Learned how to feel the emotions without letting them leech into his own.

It’s difficult with Louis. The boy feels in an intense way. It’s sporadic, almost. All over the place and chaotic, hard to hold onto just one at a time.

It takes him the full seven seconds between the bar and the floor to wire his magic around it, numb it so it’s less intense. It’s never taken that long. Two, at most, usually. Louis’ different. He’s so, so different and Harry doesn’t know why. It’s probably not a good thing that he’s curious. Wants to know more.

That pop song is still playing, a group of male voices singing through the speakers about a night changing or something. Harry doesn’t focus on it much, too busy watching as Louis starts to dance. He’s a hilarious dancer, clearly not trying too hard, more likely just trying to make him laugh, mouthing every word to the song correctly. It works, and Harry’s grinning ear to ear when the song is finished, copying along as they recreate silly versions of footloose moves.

“So you like boybands?” Harry asks, ducking under Louis’ arm as he’s spun. It should be an awkward move, since Louis’ about a foot shorter than him and definitely a bit thinner on the physical side of things. Still, it feels natural. The more they’re touching, the easier it is to calm his magic, for some reason. He’s nearly buzzing all over, warmth spreading to the tips of his toes, and not from the alcohol.

“Nah, boybands are shit!” Louis exclaims back over the next song’s chorus, loud and bass-y.

“You knew every word!” Harry replies, laughing, infected by Louis’ smile.

Louis then peeks over his shoulder, back in the direction of the bar, then steps in close, pulling Harry down to his level rather than lifting onto his tiptoes, a soft hand touching to his chest as he speaks into his ear.

“Do you want to help me lose my stalker?” He asks, something mischievous in his voice. Harry settles a hand on Louis’ hip, breathing going a bit stuttery as he feels the attraction he’s focused on shift a bit, nervousness and lust fitting in at the top.

“Will doing so get me in trouble?” Harry asks. He knows the guy isn’t a legitimate stalker. He must serve a purpose here, though. A bodyguard, for some reason. He definitely looks the part, with big arms and black clothing, staring at them closely. Who knows, maybe Louis’ some super billionaire? Harry wouldn’t know. He hasn’t been up to date with celebrity shit in _years_.

“Most definitely.” Louis says, leaning back away from his ear with a grin. He doesn’t pull his hand away from his chest, and he doesn’t take Harry’s hand away from his hip. He just waits for the answer, holding his breath, it seems.

“I thought you had to leave?”

“Not if I get away.”

“Alright, what’s the plan?” Harry laughs, feeling the excitement bubble up in the boy.

“Don’t let go!” Louis says, tangling their fingers together and then just fucking taking off through the crowd. Immediately, Harry looks back to see Paul the alleged stalker cursing and pushing through the people to follow. He can only guess this isn’t the first time Louis’ attempted to bolt. He wonders if the boy is usually successful. He then wonders what will happen when he ensures it is, hand waving subtly and slowing the muscle man down.

They push through a back entrance that Harry didn’t even know existed, but Louis clearly did. It’s raining lightly, and he realises immediately it’s because of this. Because even just focusing on one emotion, he can still feel Louis’ dread deep down. Lingering underneath his walls anyway. Trying to claw its way out every time they pause. He knows if he felt the full emotion again, it would begin to storm.

“Where are we going?!” Harry asks through a laugh as Louis pulls him through alleyways and then up a fire escape. They get two stories up and then Louis pulls him into a crouch, finger to his lips and a silly grin. Paul pauses at the alleyway and glances down once, before continuing on with a curse. The moment he’s gone, Louis starts to laugh. It’s quite a lovely sound.

“Am I going to get arrested for kidnapping?” Harry asks, laughing easily as well.

“Can’t kidnap if I’m not a kid! C’mon, let’s get on the roof.” He continues to climb the fire escape, and Harry can’t do much but follow along. He can only assume Louis’ spontaneity is a distraction, just like he himself probably is. It won’t last much longer. He’s going to explode soon, and it probably won’t be pretty. Harry remembers that flash of blood on concrete with a gulp.

They get to the roof, and Louis immediately sits on an air con vent, kicking his feet and watching Harry as he walks over to join.

“So, Curly, you just visiting London?” He asks, sitting back on his hands and tilting his head up towards the light mist of rain like he enjoys it. It’s lightened up now that they aren’t touching. Could even stop soon if Louis keeps his distance.

“Live here, actually. M’ in med school.”

“Oo, smarty! Is it fun? I didn’t make it to college, let alone uni.” He doesn’t seem down about it, maintaining his content expression as he soaks up the rain.

“It’s a lot of work, but uni is always fun. What about you?”

“Sort of both. I have a place here but I’m also just visiting for now. Headed over to Manchester in three days.” Louis opens his pretty eyes again to look at him. His face has a nice sheen from the mist. Harry steps up to the ledge parallel to him, hopping up onto the concrete of it. He slips a bit, nearly falling four stories to his death, but his magic is easily used to steady himself. It might not even be noticeable to the naked eye, his close encounters with death.

“Frequent traveler? You, like, a pilot or something?”

“Or something,” Louis clearly doesn’t want to say, standing up to come closer, “why don’t you like music anymore? You said ‘anymore’ like something ruined it.”

It’s a really fucking personal question, but Harry invades every human he meet’s privacy on a daily basis, so he isn’t offended. Louis steps up next to his hanging legs, leaning against the ledge but not hopping up.

“My ex used to fuck around with a guitar. We’d sing to the radio and when we broke up everything reminded me of it so I stopped listening to music.”

“Is she in a band?”

“No, he isn’t.” Harry corrects, and watches Louis try to hide his smile at this new information. Immediately, he steps closer, so Harry’s knee is brushing his hip. It’s not nearly as bad as it would be with his bare hands, but the rain does pick up just ever so slightly, the boy’s loud emotions simmering over his skin and around him. His aura, some might call it.

“What kind of doctor are you studying to be?”

“Surgeon. I’m leaning towards cardiovascular but I’m not 100% yet.”

Louis’ eyebrows raise right up to his hairline. He’s pretty to the point of being _too_ pretty. Harry wants to kiss him. It’d be nice and romantic, too, on some rooftop in central London in the nice light rain. He knows Louis wants to kiss him too, can feel his want just in the air between them, radiating off the boy’s body in a way that the average human wouldn’t be able to feel. For Harry, it thrums against his skin and makes the hairs on his arm stand at attention.

The only thing holding him back is the exact thing that gives him this sure knowledge. His magic.

Sex makes him lose control a bit, slip into the pleasure and forget he’s meant to act like a regular human. When he and Ben first kissed, (also Harry’s first kiss anyway) lightning had flashed across the sky in the middle of a hot summer day. It had started a frenzy amongst meteorologists and his mum had called him, pissed off. He has to be careful, now. Take it slow. Especially with the way Louis feels so different. The way he’s looking at him right now, making his stomach flutter just with some staring.

Harry feels like he’s sixteen again, sharing his first kiss, and he and Louis have barely even touched so far. It’s dangerous, the unknown. It could end so badly, especially with the fact that Harry doesn’t fully even understand his own magic in the first place. Has barely learned to control it over the years.

“Aren’t surgeons meant to be stressed all the time?”

“Oh, I’m stressed. Just finished a midterm today, actually. Almost didn’t come tonight.” Harry’s throat dries when Louis turns and hops up onto the ledge with him, except he faces the other way, legs over the city below. He has annoyingly nice thighs, strong under his jeans.

Dragging his eyes away from his legs and back to his face, he finds the boy smirking, bumping their shoulders together.

“Are your hands really steady, then?” He asks, an obvious preposition to feel them. Harry isn’t going to disappoint.

“You decide.” He says, holding his hand out for the boy to take. He does, fingers wrapping around his wrist and holding it up between them, watching for any twitches. There’s none. Harry doesn’t have incredibly steady hands naturally. It’s his magic, of course. His magic which gives him the memory for his studies. His magic is sort of the only reason he’s making it through such a rigorous course. It’ll be worth it, in the end. He wants to buy his mum a nice house.

Louis touches his hand, and Harry’s eyes flutter as he’s flooded with emotions once again. They’re so strong, it’s like a punch in the gut every time. Now, he expects it, but that doesn’t lessen the feeling whatsoever.

“Mine are never steady. S’ gotten worse with smoking.” Louis looks away, out towards the city. They’re still holding hands, so Harry feels everything he does after that statement. He smokes when he’s stressed. He wants one now. Annoyance because the rain is stopping that from happening. Then, thankfulness for that same reason. Harry can nearly taste the nicotine. Wonders if he will taste it when they kiss.

Wonders when ‘if they kiss’ became ‘when’.

Harry lifts their hands, touching his lips to Louis’ knuckles. As he does, he pushes forth some calm into the boy, hoping to help his racing head and his dark energy.

“M’ not a princess.” Louis says, but the sweet flush that warms his cheeks begs to differ.

“Then why are you so pretty?” Harry asks, knowing his dimples are popping. Can’t help but flirt a bit. Louis barks a laugh, pulling his hand away to cover his face like he’s shy. As _if_ he’s shy.

“God, you’re going to get me in so much trouble.”

“Oh am I the one being kidnapped now?”

“It’s not—I’m not supposed to do this.” Louis motions between them. Harry kicks his heels against the concrete of the ledge, tilting his head in confusion.

“Sneak onto random rooftops? Don’t think anyone’s supposed to.”

“The trespassing is the least of my worries. You’re very..” Louis chews on the inside of his lip, and gesticulates widely.

“You’ve lost me.” Harry says with a laugh, running a hand through his gradually wetting hair. Louis watches the movement with a sigh.

“The last time I snuck away with a boy I had to date a girl I didn’t want to for like eight years.” Louis says, probably the most confusing sentence he’s ever said. Harry kind of wants to just touch him and find out everything so he can understand, but he refrains. He doesn’t dig unless it’s an emergency. Louis will tell him if it needs to be said. People have a right to keep secrets.

“Must’ve been some boy.” Harry decides to say, instead of digging. Louis seems thankful, looking down between them with a huff.

“He wasn’t. Someone just happened to get photos,” he clears his throat, trying to quickly move away from the topic, “is your place far from here?”

Harry grins, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“About ten minutes that way by cab.” He says, then slides off of the ledge, back down onto the roof below. Louis, having had his legs the other direction, has to turn around to hop down. He lifts his legs and spins on his arse, but his foot gets caught on the edge of the concrete. He gasps as he loses balance, and falls backwards. He doesn’t fall the few feet onto the rooftop. No, he falls back the other way, over the ledge. They must be at least four or five stories up.

“Louis!” Harry’s heart climbs into his throat and he jumps to the ledge, pushing his torso up onto it and peeking over.

“F-fuck!” Louis says, hanging onto the ledge by his hands. The fucker _laughs_ , as if anything is funny right now. It’s probably just a knee-jerk reaction. The panic bubbling up out of him.

“Don’t look down, hold on!” Harry shifts up onto the ledge, grabs a hold of the inner concrete so he doesn’t fall himself, and reaches out with his right hand, grabbing onto Louis’ wrist.

“I’m slipping—I can’t—“ Louis hisses, fingers barely holding onto the concrete. He is slipping, actually, and it takes Harry a moment to realise it’s because in the last few seconds the light mist has turned into an absolute downpour with his emotions hiked up like this. He can’t calm himself down. He could use his magic to pull Louis up, even just with one hand. He can easily do it.

_Never use magic conspicuously._

The mantra slams through his head over and over again. It’s the number one rule. The one rule that keeps his gift hidden. The one rule his mother told him he could never break. Even now, with Louis hanging onto his life by just his fingers, Harry knows he can’t use it. He must find a way to keep it human. Must find a way to save him without exposing himself.

“Okay, okay, I need you to grab my hand, Louis, and I’ll pull you up.”

“You’ll fall!” Louis chokes, panicked blue eyes looking to Harry’s other hand, keeping himself from falling by holding onto the other side of the ledge.

“I’ll just use this hand. You have to trust me—“

“F-fuck, just let me go, Harry.” Louis says, then one of his hands slips with the rain. Harry grabs onto it immediately, but the boy doesn’t hold him back. He doesn’t hold him back. _He doesn’t hold him back._

Hand curled around his wrist allowing his magic to read him, Harry finally realises why Louis didn’t attempt to pull himself up before he slipped to his fingers. He realises why Louis is crying and why he isn’t holding him back. He _wants_ to fall. Wants it to end. He wants Harry to let go of him. There’s no fear coursing through Louis right now. There’s adrenaline, and there’s _relief_.

Relief because while he wouldn’t take his own life purposefully, he would let go if he were hanging by a thread. He’s in much deeper than Harry realised. He’s in so deep that it’s taking over his fight or flight mode. So deep that he would let himself fall.

“Fucking grab my hand, Louis!” Harry shouts, hand slipping on Louis’ wrist. The boy’s other hand is hardly hanging on. One more slip and Louis’ whole weight will only be held by Harry’s hand on his wrist. It could break his wrist. It could slip with the rain. Likely would slip with the rain.

Looking down below, he sees how far of a drop it is. It would be fatal, without question. He couldn’t survive it. There’s nothing to break his fall.

Tears flood Harry’s eyes as he realises what his premonition was back inside. He can see that exact dark concrete in the alley below. The rain water constantly flowing through from the pour. The blood would be Louis’. Louis is the one who is destined to die tonight.

“No,” Harry shouts, and lightning cracks across the sky, “Louis, take my hand! Please! Don’t give up, please, please—“

“It’s okay, Harry. You have to let go or you’ll fall too. It’ll be okay!” Louis sobs, and then, his other hand doesn’t slip. It doesn’t, rather, he lets go.

Suddenly, the number one rule doesn’t matter.

Harry releases his steadying hold on the ledge and uses both of his hands to grab Louis’ wrists. There’s absolutely nothing keeping himself held up on the ledge. Nothing but his magic, holding him down like gravity. It’s his magic that helps him pull Louis up with a shout.

He yanks him back onto the roof in barely two seconds. It’s superhuman. He couldn’t do it alone. Not with the weird angle or the slippery rain or anything else. He presses Louis down onto the concrete of the roof, straddling him, and cups his cheeks, breathing harshly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why did you let go?!” He’s nearly screaming, voice half droned out by the absolutely _pouring_ rain above. He’s out of control. He might just cause a fucking tsunami if he doesn’t calm down.

“Harry,“ Louis gasps, clutching Harry’s soaked shirt, eyes wide. He’s feeling _lust_ of all things right now. Not relief for a second chance at life. Not happiness from being saved. No, there’s adrenaline and there lust being pumped through him, seeping into Harry with its strength, and then there’s disappointment. Disappointment because he didn’t die. Because he didn’t get the easy way out.

“Why did you let go?! Why! Why didn’t you hold on—“ Harry’s nearly sobbing now, his own fear and adrenaline mixing with the dark dark feelings at Louis’ centre. It breaks his heart, that someone like him can let go of his life.

His frantic shouting is cut short when Louis lifts his head from the roof and presses their lips together.

Lighting strikes again, and Harry’s heart slams in his chest. He kisses back just as passionately, both of their emotions coursing through him and heightening everything. He’s never had a kiss like this. Not one that makes him feel so derailed. The soulmate theory shifts up in the list, suddenly.

Louis tugs on his shirt like he’s not close enough, legs spreading for Harry to fit between, ankle hooking around his thigh. He wants so much, this boy. Harry can feel his want, screaming through every part of him. He’s starved for it, almost. Perhaps, he feels it too. The unexplainable pull between them. His mortal body unsure how to process it other than with touch. Like magnets who don’t know they’re magnets.

“Yours, lets go, Harry, _Harry_.” Louis gasps the last word as the younger presses his lips to his throat. It’s wet with the rain, slightly salty from tears or maybe sweat. He tastes like everything Harry will ever want, or maybe he’s just desperate, his magic absolutely flying through him. He might actually start to levitate if he doesn’t pull away now, so he does, and their eyes meet.

“Why did you let go, Lou?” Harry asks, the nickname unexpected but not unwanted. Louis reaches up and touches his fingers to Harry’s lips, sure to be red with their biting kiss.

“I promise..I’ll tell you everything, but I might fucking die if you don’t get me off of this rooftop.”

It would be a terribly too soon pun if it were meant to be, but Louis’ eyes are dilated, there’s nothing but want flowing through him. Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush, but he’s desperate for it. For Harry.

“Okay,” Harry chokes, standing up on jelly legs and pulling the boy up with him. They carefully take the fire escape back down to solid ground, and Harry keeps a hand on the boy the entire time, just in case he decides to fucking toss himself off again.

Then they’re running through the streets, hand in hand. It’s still pouring, Harry having yet to calm, and they don’t bother trying to hail a cabbie right now. Louis is laughing, carefree and ecstatic with what’s to come. Literally.

Harry’s hands shake as he tries to get his key through the front door. He knows Niall isn’t home, had been half paying attention to his mate back at the pub. He’d gone back to redhead’s place. There’s probably a text letting him know, but Harry doesn’t need to check. He can have really good hearing when he wants to.

“Thought your hands were really steady, doc?” Louis asks as he fails to insert the key a second time. There’s one problem causing it, and it’s the lips at the back of his neck, Louis nuzzling into him and distracting him terribly.

“You almost died just now, I’m a bit frazzled.” Harry explains, and finally succeeds in opening the door. They’re hardly inside before Louis presses him against the foyer wall, giggling as he yanks Harry’s soaked coat from his shoulders.

“Who the fuck uses the word _frazzled_.” He teases, and kisses Harry again before he can comeback with anything.

“People who’re gonna get sick from the cold.” Harry pulls away to reply anyway. He can feel it below Louis’ skin, the infection that’s going to rise within the next day or two, leave him with the sniffles and a mild fever. Harry will be fine. He’s never been sick in his life, his magic ensuring that. Maybe spending time outside in the rain in October wasn’t a great idea.

“How big’s your shower?” Louis asks, hands dropping to Harry’s belt, raising a suggestive eyebrow. Even with his chattering teeth, he still manages to be sultry. A man of many talents, apparently. Harry grins and pulls him away from the foyer. They drip water all over the damn place on their way down the hall and into the toilet. He will rid of Louis’ infection before it even starts, and he can use a warm shower as an excuse if the boy wonders about it.

As the water heats up, they undress, teeth chattering and giggling like children.

“This is the weirdest fucking date I’ve ever been on.” Louis says as he strips his wet jeans, taking a billion things from his pockets. A wallet, a phone, a pack of gum, a chain of keys, a weird mismatched bundle of casino coins that aren’t even from England.

“You count nearly falling to your death and then showering together as a date?” Harry asks between bursts of laughter, climbing into the shower and pulling Louis along with him. They both shiver as the hot water rains down onto their bodies, warming them up. Louis’ proper fit, muscles jumping under his skin as he shivers, head tipped back into the spray. He’s not even close to disappointing downstairs, either. Thick and curved up to his stomach because he’s already hard. His arse is a whole different story, and Harry can’t help but reach for it rather immediately, getting a handful as they warm up.

“I count sharing a drink and fucking a boy at his place as a date, yes.” Louis says, hands trailing up Harry’s chest and tangling into his hair, making a soft breathy noise as Harry kisses him, pulling them together by his incredible arse.

He spreads his cheeks, hiking him up closer so he’s nearly on his tiptoes. A bit rough, but Louis answers amazingly, tugging on his hair.

“You warm yet? Wanna..” Louis’ mouth slacks against his when he wraps a hand around Harry’s cock, and he pulls away to look down between them, like he hadn’t looked yet. He might not have, his emotions are sporadic as all hell, the lust blurring them together like crazy.

“Wanna what?” He asks, then latches onto Louis’ jaw, wanting to mark him up.

“Wanna ride you. On y’ bed.” Louis says, squeezing him. Harry groans and reaches behind him, shutting off the water and opening the door. He yanks a towel from the hook but barely bothers properly drying them before tossing Louis onto the bed, following right after. It’s strange, how easy it is for everything to fall into place. How easily his limbs fit around the boy’s. As if they’re meant to fit together. Like two halves of one whole.

There’s something missing..the awkwardness. The fact that there’s none of it. Despite having just met less than two hours ago, and they aren’t even pissed. It’s almost, strangely, familiar.

“I feel like I’ve known you me whole life.” Louis whispers against his lips, legs wrapping around him. Harry’s breath stutters, heart thumping in his chest. He’d been thinking the same thing.

He makes a mental reminder to call his mum later and ask about that soulmate theory.

“Want me to prep you?” Harry asks, kissing Louis so his eyes are closed while he flicks his hand. The lube flies out of the bedside table and into his hand. Whatever, it’s faster.

“God, yes. Been looking at your apish hands all night.” Louis sighs, watching with big eyes as Harry pulls away and coats his fingers.

“My hands aren’t apish.” He feigns being offended, reaching under them and touching a wet finger to Louis’ hole, warm and soft from the hot water. The shower was definitely a good idea.

“Too big and long, definitely apish. Fucking, I can take two.” Louis clutches the sheet as Harry slides one finger in him.

“You like the pain or something?” Harry asks, and doesn’t need a verbal answer. He can feel the ‘yesyesyes’ that Louis’ body is screaming with every move he makes. Ben used to call him a ‘sex god’ because he instantly knew exactly how he’d wanted it. Funny how it’s not even Harry, it’s his magic. Guiding him just right so he can give his partner exactly what they want.

“I’m not opposed to a bit of it.” Louis gives him an answer anyway, then makes a high sound when Harry presses in the second finger.

“You’re beautiful.” He says, painstakingly honest. The boy really is, with the way he’s reacting. Long eyelashes casting a pretty shadow over his cheekbones as Harry stretches him out, lips wet and hair wetter, sticking to his forehead and getting the pillow damp below him. There’s tattoos littering him everywhere, and Harry really wants to touch each one of them. With his tongue, preferably.

“Shut up.” Louis whines, cheeks pinking from the complement.

“It’s true. I’m not gonna last long, especially if you’re on top, taking it how you want.”

“Your dirty talk is shit.” Louis complains, and Harry barely holds in a laugh.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re leaking?” He asks, then presses in a third finger before Louis can try to deny it. It’s there right in front of him, his pretty cock leaking precome onto his stomach and getting himself messy. Harry’s definitely going to need his magic to last longer. He’ll actually come in three seconds if he presses into this boy without it.

“You’re so close, just a little—“ Louis makes a huffy sound when Harry pulls his fingers out a bit, avoiding his prostate like the plague.

“M’ saving it.” He says, biting at Louis’ collarbone as he scissors his fingers.

“You’re teasing, actually. _God_ , I’m ready. C’mon, flip over.” He pats Harry’s shoulder and the younger complies, rolling over onto his back, heart racing as Louis climbs onto him, straddling his torso. He’s never been ridden before, admittedly. Ben didn’t enjoy bottoming that much, and when he did he always wanted to be doggy-style, something about not wanting Harry to see his face while he’s so vulnerable.

“Is this your first time or something?” Louis asks, rolling a condom onto Harry agonisingly slowly, probably seeing the look of awe he’s sporting.

“In this position, yeah.”

“Oh, you’re definitely going to come quickly.” He positions himself, hand reaching back to Harry’s cock to hold it in place.

“I think you’ll be impressed by my stamina, actually.” Harry replies. Louis looks like he wants to be sassy back, but his face breaks as he starts to sink down onto him. It’s warm and hot and incredibly tight and Harry immediately uses his magic to calm himself down, lightning striking outside.

“M’ gonna be limping tomorrow.” The boy doesn’t sound or feel sad about it, nails biting into Harry’s abs as he bottoms out. He’s moving a bit quicker than he should. Harry can feel the pain spiking through him every few seconds, but the boy isn’t wincing. His jaw is slacked, eyes fluttering like he can barely take it. He is fine with pain, as it turns out.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Harry moans as Louis lifts up and starts to ride him in earnest. Harry watches with wide eyes, refusing to look away. This memory is going to fuel his spank bank actually _forever_.

Louis looks down at him, eyes lidded as they look him over. Every time his hands move to another part of him, Harry can feel double the pleasure. Their pleasure combined. It’s almost too much. Even with his magic, he’s not going to last long. It’s fine, though, because he can feel it building up in Louis as well, despite the fact that he’s not hitting his prostate.

“Here,” Harry cups the back of Louis’ knee and pulls it forward a bit so the next time he sinks down it hits just right.

“How’d you know—fuck, that’s..” he bottoms out and swirls his hips in circles, feeling himself a bit on his prostate. It’s the hottest fucking thing Harry’s ever seen.

The curtains on the windows begin to move, despite the windows themselves being closed. When Louis moans, Harry’s toes start to tingle, the bed shifting below him as his body considers levitating, make itself as weightless as this feeling.

Instead of letting it, Harry sits up, pulling Louis to his chest and standing up, still connected.

“What’re you doing? H-Harry!” Louis makes a yelp of surprise when he’s lifted up from the bed. Harry walks the few feet to the wall, presses the boy against it, body probably blocking a good bit of the room. He takes a hold of the boy, folding him up and then fucking him right against the creme painted walls. Louis moans brokenly, head tilting back, hands still clutching Harry’s shoulders as if he’d ever let him fall.

“Good?” Harry asks, leaning in to kiss the boy’s neck while he’s got it exposed. Instead of answering, Louis moans, legs tightening around him. He’s close. Harry can feel how much he’s enjoying it, it’s numbing everything else a bit, making the boy forget to be decent, his moans increasing in volume. It’s so damn good. Harry wants to make him even louder.

“Anyone ever do this to you?” Harry asks, squeezing Louis’ thighs a bit tighter so he knows what he’s referring to.

“N-no, m’ heavy.” Louis slurs, can’t do anything but hold on and take it, body hitching up the wall every time Harry pounds into him.

“You aren’t heavy. So light, baby. You make me feel so light—“ he chokes off his probably confusing sentence when Louis starts to feel something new. That tiny spark of joy that’s been muted and numb suddenly seeps in from it’s hiding spot. Louis’ nails stop biting into his shoulders and instead gently caress into his hair. His loud raspy moans become light, breathy. Harry leans away from his neck so he can watch it happen. Watch Louis feel happiness.

The boy coming between them is hardly noticeable, not with what flashes over his face. Smoothing over the frown lines and providing the prettiest content expression.

Harry thrusts up into him once more and follows immediately. As he comes, lightning cracks in the sky and the power abruptly goes out.

The room, once shed in dim light from the toilet’s fluorescents, falls to darkness. Harry slips out of the boy and walks him to the bed, setting him down on his back gently.

“God, you work out a lot or something?” Louis asks, out of breath. Harry chuckles, tying the condom and tossing it in the bin, easily making it with his enhanced vision. A towel falls into his hands when beckoned, unnoticeable because of the dark and the way Louis has an arm over his eyes.

“Just trying to impress you so you’ll spend the night.” Harry murmurs, crawling over the boy and wiping him clean, pressing soft kisses over the harsh marks he made with his teeth during.

“As if I’m considering walking right now.”

“It was good?”

“Really fucking good. Don’t get a big head about it, though.” There’s about five billion jokes Harry could make from that statement. Instead, he leans in and kisses him, feels that joy still swimming through him. Something soft and content. The darkness is put on the back-pedal for however long until it’s allowed to worm its way in again.

“I think I have candles somewhere. That power outage had some good timing.” Harry comments, totally casual as if he isn’t the one who caused it. He can only hope he didn’t cause a wreck or something. He’s never made a power outage before. He’s also never had such mind-blowing sex before, so maybe it coincides.

“Let’s just sleep instead. I’m cold.” Louis sighs, reaching for him blindly. Harry laughs and they crawl into the bed, cozying up under the duvet. It’s barely a flick of his hand to make himself warm. He fully intends to have a cuddle.

“Turn around, I know you like little spoon.” Louis says, poking his side. Harry chuckles, rolling away so Louis can cuddle up against his back. He has to scoot up so he can fit well, but it works. Everything seems to work with them.

“How’d you know?” Harry asks, smiling silly as he’s cuddled. He _does_ love little spoon. He didn’t tell, though.

“Dunno. Just an inkling. Hey,” he clears his throat, nuzzling his cold nose into Harry’s neck, “was this a one night stand for you?”

He’s wrapped around him, hand in his, so Harry can feel his nerves and his fear. He knows he should say yes. Louis will leave in the morning and that’ll be that.

Except for how that thought makes him want to to douse himself in petrol and light a match.

Okay, maybe he’s being dramatic, except he’s sort of not. Everything about Louis drags him in. He wants more. Almost _needs_ more. He wants to know everything about him. Wants to do this again in every possible position. Wants to know why Louis is so depressed and can only hope to make more of this ever fading joy stick around. Increase, maybe. If he’s lucky to.

On the other hand, relationships are dangerous. He’s grown up knowing this. He’s dated exactly one other person in his life, and that man sits in a cell. Not just because of his own actions, either, but because of Harry. He could _ruin_ this boy. He could drive him off the rails just like Ben was. There’s many things that could go wrong, especially if Louis starts to have even an inkling of his gift.

He knows all of this. He should say yes. Yes, it’s just a one night stand. Yes, nobody needs to leave any numbers or see each other again.

And yet,

“I thought it was a date?” Harry asks, feeling the relief soak through the boy. The hand around his middle tightens. He can even feel Louis’ smile against his neck.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page.” He murmurs, and the exhaustion starts to creep in. Harry wants to remind him of his promise to tell him everything. He wants to know why Louis let go on that rooftop. Wants to know why they went from a near-death experience straight to a bed.

More than that, he doesn’t want to ruin that happiness the boy is feeling right now. So instead of questioning him, he closes his eyes and wills them both to sleep.

-

He wakes up to the faint sound of a telly and the smell of bacon.

Rising, he pulls on a pair of joggers and doesn’t bother with anything else. Since he’s alone in the room, he uses his magic to brush his teeth in three seconds, and gets his usual pang of pity for those who have to sit around at a sink for five minutes.

He finds Louis in the kitchen, stirring some bacon in a pan and reading from what looks like Harry’s _extremely_ personal leather bound journal.

“What’s that?”

“Bacon. Sorry, it’s kind of the only thing I can do, I’m a bit of a shit cook.”

“Louis.” Harry huffs, and the boy chews on his lip, closing the journal and holding it against his chest as if Harry not seeing it will make him forget. The lad reaches down and cuts the heat for the eye, probably knowing a chase down is imminent.

“Look, it was kind of just there—“

“It was hidden under my socks in my drawer!”

“Hey, you can’t get mad at me for snooping! What if you’re some axe murderer?!” Louis steps away as soon as Harry rounds the counter. There’s mirth in his eyes, the little shit.

“My journal, though? That’s, like, the one thing you shouldn’t read of someone’s.” Harry takes one more step closer, and Louis takes one back.

“When were you going to tell me you write songs? _Me_ of all people?” Louis points at him accusingly. It doesn’t even make sense.

“That doesn’t even make sense. I’m not going to show you my personal writings the second day I’ve known you!”

“Okay, I know you’re upset, but hear me out. I just want to call up this guy I know. These are, like, really fucking good—“

“Wha—no! I didn’t write those to try and get them heard.”

He takes a step forward, but Louis doesn’t back up this time. He pulls the journal out from behind himself, flipping to the page he was on.

“This one, Fine Line. I think it would be nice as a slower song. Some strings to go along with it. It could be the album name. Track one—“

“You’re talking mad, Louis. I’m not..that kind of thing doesn’t happen.”

Louis lowers the journal and narrows his eyes.

“Sing one for me. I assume you sing, yeah? C’mon.” He tosses the journal onto the island separating them. Harry picks it up and holds it to his chest. The chest that’s currently sporting a very quickly paced heart.

“You’re actually insane.”

“Well, I almost died yesterday, I don’t have time to beat around the bush.” Louis raises an eyebrow, grinning as if it’s funny.

“If I sing one will you tell me why you let go of the ledge?”

“I let go of the ledge so you wouldn’t fall too.”

“No, you let go of the ledge so you could die.” Harry sets down the journal and rounds the island, leaning up against it and looking down at him. Louis levels him with a look, but doesn’t pull away when Harry sets a hand on his wrist, feeling his defensiveness bubble up. The denial on his tongue.

“I’m not suicidal.” He says instead of the expected denial. Harry can’t hide his surprise, eyes widening a bit.

“Maybe not, but you still let go.”

“It was just in the moment. I don’t know why I did it. God, why do you need to know anyway? So you can sell the story to the rags?”

“The hell are you on about?”

Louis narrows his eyes, stepping in close and poking his chest.

“Are we still pretending you don’t know about me? It was endearing last night, but don’t drag it on.”

“Louis, I only met you last night.” Harry holds up his hands defensively, digging through his head to see if they’ve met before. He’d definitely remember this one. Nearly forgot how to breathe when their eyes had first met.

“Stop messing around, Harry, you own one of our records.” Louis rolls his eyes, looking genuinely annoyed as he stomps over to Niall’s vinyl collection and snatches out one of the records. The cover photo is four boys seated around casually, the words ‘One Direction’ across the top. Harry steps closer and takes the sleeve from him, immediately spotting Louis himself on the plastic. Hair shorter and wearing an incredible denim coat, but definitely him.

He’s heard of the band, is the thing. Knows they’re big or whatever, but he hasn’t been into music since Ben, and Ben predominantly listened to obscure bands and jazz, so Harry did too. He digs in his memory once again, remembering every small instance of hearing the band’s name. Can remember Niall playing him some of the songs, vaguely.

“This is my roommate’s collection, Lou, I genuinely didn’t know.” Harry blinks in surprise, realising why the boy was trailed by a bodyguard last night. Memories still flooding him, he remembers Niall watching x-factor ages ago, rooting for the band. Even remembers being invited to one of their gigs. He’d turned it down to go see a circus with Ben instead. Remembers hearing him say something like ‘bigger than The Beatles’.

“Oh, well shit.” Louis frowns deeply and runs a hand through his hair like he’s stressed.

It’s at that moment that Niall arrives home.

He and Louis freeze, still stood together in front of the record shelf. The boy yawns and toes off his trainers, setting his keys on the hook and stepping further into the house. He’s midway through the kitchen when his eyes fall on them. His reaction is almost hilarious. He stills completely, eyes on Louis, then glancing to Harry, then down to Harry’s fingers around Louis’ wrist, then back up to the man himself.

“Harry..” he says very carefully, hardly sounding like himself.

“Yeah, Niall?”

“Why is Louis Tomlinson in our flat?” He asks, eyes on Louis. He might not even be breathing.

“Um..to fry us some bacon?” Harry says, and Niall nods along like it’s a totally valid excuse.

“Right, yeah.” Niall sucks in a breath, and then promptly passes the fuck out.

When Niall comes to, he spends about 45 minutes fanboying and freaking out. Harry uses that time wisely, looking up the band and finding out everything he can. Turns out, ‘bigger than The Beatles’ was an understatement. Harry must be the last guy in the universe to not know everything about them already.

It definitely clears some things, though. Not just the bodyguard, but the small confusing things Louis would say. The fake girlfriend, the ‘rag’ thing, the relief when Harry didn’t recognise their song in the pub. It’s not hard to put them together, though. Louis he met last night and One Direction Louis.

He’d slept with a megastar last night. A singer in a boyband currently on a sold out tour. Louis has sixteen million Instagram followers. _Million_.

Louis who let go of the ledge last night. Louis who smiles and smiles some more, even with the darkest core Harry’s seen in quite a while.

“So you met at the bar and just decided to come spend the night?”

“God, Niall, it’s getting embarrassing now.” Harry runs a hand through his hair, sending Louis an apologetic smile. The boy doesn’t seem uncomfortable, all soft eyes and smiles as he’s interrogated.

“Well, sorry! You slept with Louis fucking Tomlinson last night who’s supposed to have been dating, fucking, what’s her name—“

“Who said we slept together?” Louis asks, voice panicked. Niall raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them.

“Um..the lovebites all over both of you, the clothing trailing back to the rooms, and Harry’s post-sex face.”

“I don’t have a—!”

“Oh god, I need to get NDAs down here.” Louis interrupts Harry’s squawking, sagging down onto the couch, head in his hands.

“Don’t stress, mate. While this is incredible news, the only person I’d tell is this one. Might want to grab him one, though, he can’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.” Niall pokes a thumb towards Harry, who pouts. If only he knew how wrong that statement is.

It helps, though. Louis lifts his head and chuckles.

“I’m not sure if that’s true. He’s been hiding a journal full of songs. I’m trying to convince him to come write for us but he’s very dead-set on cutting into people instead.” Louis motions to the journal, now sat on the tea table below them.

“He showed you the songs? Shit, took him five years to let me see them!”

“ _Actually_ ,” Harry’s brows furrow, giving Louis a pointed look, “I didn’t show them, he dug through my drawers and found it. Also, he never offered anything, only tried to use it as blackmail so I’d sing him a song.”

“Well I’m offering it now. Come help us make our next album. We could even work on it during tour. You can come on tour with us and we can write between shows—“

“I’m a bit busy working on studying to cut into people.” Harry sighs, crossing his arms. Just the thought of his songs being heard makes his stomach do nervous flips.

“Niall, can we have a few minutes?” Louis sends a dazzling smile Niall’s way, and the boy stutters out an agreement, nearly tripping his way out of the room.

Harry leans back against the arm of the couch, watching warily as Louis stands up and over to him, then lowers himself nearly into his lap. Arms curling around his neck, he leans in and gives him a kiss.

Harry runs his hands over Louis’ waist, feeling his desperation and his pain.

The pain is unexpected. He realises that Louis isn’t trying to whisk him away because he wants the songs. It’s because he doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to leave him.

“I only just met you yesterday.” Harry murmurs, answering the pain Louis didn’t verbalise, separating their lips with a finger under his chin. Their eyes meet, and his stomach swoops once more. The man has probably the nicest eyes he’s ever seen.

“I know.” Louis whispers, almost a whine. With hands on him, Harry realises his suspicion was correct. Louis does feel the pull between them. It’s making him chaotic and unsure, desperate not to let them separate. His mortal body unsure how to process it, can’t do anything but _want_. Harry wants to check the future and see what would happen if he chose to leave, or chose to stay. He wants to, but he doesn’t. Knowing the future almost always guarantees it will change.

“I’m in the middle of a semester—“

“I’ll cover the costs. I’m not, like, asking you to come on as a ghost writer or a groupie or something. I’m offering you a job. To write with us. I mean..obviously I mostly just don’t want to stop seeing you, but it’s not just that. These songs are legitimately really fucking good. Emotional and subtle at the same time.” Louis traces his fingers up Harry’s chest, touching at his necklace. There’s a flush on his cheeks like he’s embarrassed to admit he doesn’t want to leave. As if Harry doesn’t feel exactly the same.

The thought of Louis leaving makes his whole body sore, his magic thrumming and angry.

“Do you always offer your lays jobs on the second day?” He asks, leaning in to nip at his jaw a bit. Louis chuckles, threading his fingers through Harry’s hair. It’s going to be a frizzy mess as long as they’re together.

“I’m here for two more days, yeah? You don’t have to decide right away. How about..come have dinner? Like a genuine date.”

“A date? Are you going to find another excuse to off yourself again?” It might be too soon for jokes, but Louis laughs, eyes crinkling and amusement fluttering through his skin.

“Maybe I’ll ask the chef to add a little rat poison to my wine.”

“And get all foamy at the mouth? Terrible unattractive. So dinner then?”

“Yep, get all dressed up, too. It’ll be fancy. Then maybe I’ll take you to a concert after.”

“A concert? Haven’t been to one since The Script.” Harry yawns and leans against the couch, setting his arm over the back so he can touch at Louis’ hair. The boy narrows his eyes like he’s suspicious.

“The Script? When?”

“Uh, I think it was 2009?”

“February?”

They blink at each other for a few stunned moments, before Louis exhales a breathy laugh and crawls actually into his lap, touching their foreheads together. There’s something warm and unexplainable flowing through the boy.

“Imagine if we’d run into each other then. I was 17.”

“I would’ve pissed my pants, probably. I was only just 15. I’d gotten the tickets for my birthday.”

“God, we don’t even know anything about each other. I don’t even know your fucking last name.” Louis sounds breathless, leaning in to kiss him a bit like it doesn’t even matter either way.

It really, really doesn’t.

“Styles. I read your Wikipedia page, so I know yours.” Harry grins, but Louis leans back and swallows thickly. He’s feeling dread, so strong it seeps through his fingers on Harry’s cheek and right into him. Harry’s smile falls and he pulls him closer.

“It’ll be messy..no matter what happens next. I know we don’t know each other but I just, I dont know, I feel like..” he trails off, cheeks heating up, blue eyes dropping between them like he’s embarrassed. Harry doesn’t need to dig into his brain to know what he wants to say.

“Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this? Yeah, I feel the same way.”

Louis’ answering smile is so soft it hurts. He curls up a bit, tucking himself under Harry’s chin like he’s cold.

“I know it’s crazy, but you’re just different somehow. I’ve never done this before. I haven’t snuck off with someone in like nine years, let alone so recklessly. Fuckin’ hell, there’s probably a million missed calls on me phone right now, and I just don’t care. I don’t care about how much trouble I’m in, or how many beard dates they’re going to set me up on. I just..really want you to drop everything and travel the world with me. I know that’s selfish—“

“It is, but it’s okay. I’m having trouble remembering why I shouldn’t.” Harry’s eyes flutter closed when Louis presses his lips to his neck, sharp teeth biting into him a bit. Like a little vampire or something. The want for more flows off of Louis in waves. More everything. He can hear Niall stand up in his room like he might decide to come back down, inaudible to Louis’ mortal ears.

“You should check your phone, though. That Paul guy is probably really pissed off.”

Louis lifts his head and smirks, fingers touching the mark he’s just left on Harry’s neck.

“After that we should share a shower. One where we actually get clean this time.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and stands up from the couch. Harry grins, fingers wrapped around Louis’ wrist as he stands. He moves out from in front of him, and time stops.

Everything is frozen around him. Louis’ hand in still in his, his heart between beats. The clock on the wall is mid-tick, unmoving. The particles in the air freeze, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat at the sight in front of him.

It’s Louis, but he’s not as recognisable as usual. He’s standing in front of the telly, just a metre away, shivering terribly. He’s soaked head to toe, dressed in one of Harry’s shirts and a ripped pair of jeans. Not ripped for style, but ripped because of the gash on his leg, just above his left knee. His skin is a ghastly white, as if there’s no blood pumping through his veins. His lips are blue, mouth wide like he’s screaming. He’s curling in on himself, reaching for his throat like he can’t breathe, dripping water all over the carpet below. The worst part are his eyes, bloodshot and still. Dead.

“Louis,” Harry wheezes, and in an instant time resumes. Real Louis’ hand slips from his, but the boy turns, eyebrows furrowing.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” Louis steps back in front of him, and Harry takes him by his hip, pulls him down to sit on his lap again. He touches the pads of his fingers to the boy’s cheeks. They’re warm, a soft pink, his lips even pinker, especially with the kissing they’d just been doing. Alive and warm, eyes so blue and swimming with confusion.

Harry leans in and kisses him, feeling the warmth against his own lips. He cups a hand around the back of Louis’ neck, and reads him. He’s worried, confused, but most importantly: not dying. His heart beats steadily, moving through non-clotted and perfectly fine veins. His brain sizzles with tasks, no tumours eating through it. The infection Harry rid of last night is nowhere to be found. There’s nothing wrong with him, not physically.

The dark centre is still strong, though it’s been muted ever since Harry pulled him up from that ledge last night, muted because of how much else he’s feeling.

He separates their lips, exhaling shakily with relief. He’s never had something like that before. Never something so tangible, something that paused time for him to see. He would think it were a premonition, but they usually come as flashes. Images when he blinks. This doesn’t feel like a premonition..it feels like a nightmare. Like a warning, maybe. Something dark and something not on his side.

And in the form of Louis, too. Not Harry. Harry wasn’t the one standing there dripping with blue lips. It was Louis. Whatever it was, he can’t help but feel like perhaps that close call last night on the rooftop wasn’t the last one. He has a feeling deep in his gut that death will come for the boy, fulfil the destiny that Harry had to use his magic to avoid. What is meant to happen will happen.

Even though they’ve only found each other. Death has no care for soulmates. Only one thing is certain, and that’s that neither Louis nor Harry can prevent his death. Not permanently. Death will come no matter what.

But there’s one thing Harry can do..he can postpone it. He can cast it away time and time again, give them months together. Years. A lifetime. As long as he’s with the boy, he can give him that. Really, he can give _himself_ that.

“What was that?” Louis leans away from the kiss with a breathless gasp, eyes searching his, still confused. Barely a millisecond has passed, but Harry feels like it’s been hours. He’s thought his fill. He knows what he’s going to do.

“It was me saying yes.” He murmurs, running the pads of his fingers over Louis’ hipbone. The skin is thin there, vulnerable.

“Yes to what?”

“To your offer. I don’t care either, you know. From the moment I saw you in the bar last night I knew I’d do anything to keep seeing you. School can wait. School can be done online, even—“ he’s cut off by Louis kissing him again, so passionately that they fall back onto the couch in a heap, laughing like madmen.

Out of all the emotions flying through Louis, there’s one big one that takes Harry’s breath away, makes him feel certain he made the right decision.

Happiness.

-

Dressed in his nicest button down and his sleek leather ankle boots, Harry holds Louis’ trembling hand as they ride a cabbie to his hotel. To get ready for their date, Louis needs his clothes. The ones that sit in a trunk in his hotel room. The hotel room that’s on the same floor as his bandmates. His crew. His scary bodyguard they ditched last night.

“They aren’t going to genuinely think I kidnapped you, right?” Harry asks, rubbing his thumb over Louis’, feeling anxious because the boy is. Anxious, that is. Louis’ nearly chewed his lip off, leg bouncing the entire ride.

“I don’t think so, but it’s been a while since I fucked off like this. I’ve gotten a lot more..compliant over the years. Like a puppet on a string.” There’s a surprising flash of resentment that strikes through him, before he sighs and leans back, tilting his head onto Harry’s shoulder. Finding comfort.

It makes Harry’s stomach flutter, to know Louis is turning to him for comfort after barely knowing each other.

“You should probably wait to bring up the job offer, then.”

Louis huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes and opening his mouth to reply, when the cab comes to a halt and his smile falls. His nerves are stemming from some sort of fear, of all things. Not fear for himself, though. Fear for Harry. It doesn’t make much sense, why he’s nervous for Harry instead of himself, but he might just be about to find out.

They enter the huge lavish hotel from the backside, and Louis doesn’t let go of his hand for even a second, leading him through various hallways and peeking around corners as if they’re going to get caught, then they step into a lift.

“I would try to warn you, but it’ll probably be better the less you know. If they think you’re a fan, it’ll be a lot more chaotic. Don’t even get me started on the time Liam met a girl who’d poked holes in her condoms.” Louis is rambling a bit, hand still trembling. Harry smiles comfortingly and gives him a bit of calm. It doesn’t stop the nerves, but he stops wriggling so much, eyes moving up to the floor numbers as they’re lifted up and up.

When the lift doors open, there’s three men in suits crowded around nearby, one speaking French into a phone, the other two looking stressed out of their minds.

Louis tugs him out of the lift and takes a breath.

“Okay, don’t freak out.” He says, and the men turn to look at him, eyes wide.

Then the shouting starts.

Thirty minutes later, they’re sat in the hotel’s conference room. Harry reads over an NDA, and about ten or fifteen people sit around the table and watch. The silence is deafening. The anger is radiating off of everyone in the room, making the air stuffy. Louis stares hard at his hands, clasped together on the table. His bandmates, introduced as Liam, Aiden, and Nicolò, look between Louis and Harry and continuously give each other looks.

“Look,” Louis breaks the silence loudly, making multiple people startle, “I know this is sudden, but he’s not a fan. He didn’t know about us. If you’d stop sending us judgemental looks maybe you could actually meet him and see he’s really fucking nice.”

“Lou..it’s alright.” Harry reaches for him, touching at his wrist and calming his anger. Louis looks at him, emotions swimming through his eyes. Maybe this is why he was fearful, because of the looks they’re getting. Like last night was some reckless one night stand and Harry’s trying to blackmail them or something.

The people around the room all look to their joined hands. There’s a small group from his management team who sits at a smaller table in the corner of the room, typing furiously at laptops and shuffling through papers. Damage control, apparently. Preemptively, as well. Nobody had seen them last night. There’s no damage to control yet.

“Also, I’ve offered him a job and he’s joining us for the rest of the tour.” Louis says all in one breath. Everyone in the room looks to him. Even the management team stops what they’re doing and looks over.

“What?” Someone asks, not hiding the surprise in their voice. Harry signs the last line and slides the agreement back to the lawyer, and looks to Louis. They really should’ve waited to drop that one.

“He writes songs. Like, _really_ good songs. I offered him a job, to join us on the tour and help with the next album. I know it sounds crazy—“

“Jan, please go fetch us a drug test.” Louis’ tour manager Daniel says, and Harry can’t help but smile just a bit. It does sound crazy, to be fair.

“I’m not high, Daniel, christ.”

“No, you’re just offering some boy you only just met a job, which you don’t even have the jurisdiction to do.”

“I’ll pay him myself, then. He’s not just some boy, Dan, fuck. He’s—“ Louis cuts himself off, takes Harry’s hand. He’s all strung up, like a bomb seconds from explosion. Harry keeps him from shouting, but doesn’t want to control him too much. Magic doesn’t always need to be the solution.

“You have to realise how out of the blue this is, Louis,” Liam finally says something at the other end of the table, “you only just met him last night and now you’re talking about song writing? Surely you see how strange this is.”

“I know it’s strange, Li, but you know me, yeah? You’ve seen me at my worst, when I’m acting out and falling apart. This isn’t the same. It’s the opposite, he makes me feel..p-put together. I can’t describe it, and if I tried to you’d definitely think I’d gone mad.” Louis’ hand shakes as he confesses this in front of all these people. Harry bites back a smile, cheeks pink.

The room quiets for a few minutes as the suited men confer. Louis looks to him, squeezing his hand like a thank you, as if he did anything in that outburst. Maybe it was just the hand-holding, keeping him grounded. That’s definitely how it feels for Harry. He feels like they’re being interrogated, almost. Like he’ll speak up and say one wrong thing and then they’re both in handcuffs.

“We’re going to have to think this over. There will be background checks, drug tests. He will have to have a call with Geoff to see if this writer job can even be done, and then maybe we can discuss the possibility of him tagging along—“

“Harry comes with or I stay.” Louis says without a single ounce of hesitation.

“Louis!” Harry exclaims, eyes wide. He’s not the only one shocked, many jaws dropped around the room. It’s not often Harry is met with surprise, especially when he’s touching the person who’s surprised him. There was no hesitation bubbling up in the boy, no weighing of his statement as he decided to say it or not. It just came out of him as if there’s no other option.

There’s no regret in him. He would drop everything to stay with Harry, just as Harry would to stay with him. Just as he _is_ currently doing.

“You can’t be serious. This is everything you’ve worked for for a decade! You would ruin this tour, disappoint your fans, give up the band and your career for some kid you met in a bar less than 24 hours ago?” Daniel’s eyes are wide, angry. The management team in the corner is in a panic, whispering harshly to each other. Harry looks to the boy’s bandmates, finding Liam’s face struck with betrayal, Aiden’s head in his hands, and Nicolò’s knees being pulled to his chest, face white as a sheet.

“Without a second thought. Do whatever tests and checks you want, but it’s up to you if you think you can afford to lose me.” Louis stands up, yanking at Harry’s hand so he’ll follow.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Harry says to the room, wincing at the chaos of shouts that begin as they leave. Louis drags him out of the conference room and leads him down the hallway, muttering angrily to himself until they get to his room. He pulls out his keycard and stabs it in, slamming into the room and promptly falling face first into the huge bed.

Harry chews on his lip and takes a moment to enjoy the room. It’s not often he finds himself in expensive five star hotels. The room’s in a bit of a tip, clothes tossed around and sheet music spread over the small table next to the bed, messy under a guitar.

“So..that probably could’ve gone better.” He says, stepping up to the bed and sitting cross legged next to Louis’ prone body. The boy groans into the duvet and reaches out to blindly slap him. It barely brushes his knee, but he doesn’t try again. Harry reaches out and settles a hand on the dip of his lower back.

He’s frustrated, but still no regret. He’s nervous, probably for the possibility of actually losing his job, but mostly he’s satisfied. It probably felt good to give an ultimatum to the people who’ve been controlling his life for ten years.

“Louis, you can’t give all of this up for me. Do you know how rare this is? Your life? People would kill to be in your position, I won’t let you quit it just because I’m the first boy to fuck you like you want it.”

Louis rolls over and levels him with a look, trying so hard to stay angry, but he folds within seconds, covering his face as he laughs.

“Piss _off_ , oh my god. I knew you’d get a big head from that shit.” This time, he doesn’t let the pun slide.

“I’ll take a big head anytime, thanks.” Harry leans back on his elbows extremely suggestively, and Louis slaps his calf with a giggle.

“Not until after the date, you dirty minx. I’m supposed to court you first. Oh yeah!” He hops up from the bed, pulling open his trunk on the floor and digging through a huge pile of unfolded clothes.

When he stands back up, he’s starts to undress. He’s not doing it in a particularly sensual way, but Harry’s stomach aches with want anyway. It had been dark last night, his magic was nearly out of control, fogging everything up. Now, it’s barely midday, the room lit up brightly, and Louis’ on full display.

“Stop looking at me like that.” The boy complains, tugging on some nice trousers that fit over his arse unfairly well.

“Like what?” Harry mumbles distractedly, eyes watching every movement intensely.

“Like you want to eat me.” Louis says with a grin, then pulls on a fucking _turtleneck_. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling it back over his head, and tucks the turtleneck in, grabbing a belt from the trunk. Within a minute, he’s gone from cute and comfortable to some hot CEO look.

“Can I?” Harry asks in a rasp. Louis raises an eyebrow at him, buckling his belt closed and picking up a pair of nice shiny black shoes.

“Can you eat me? I think cannibalism is illegal, H.” He turns around to tuck his feet into the shoes, showing off his arse, and Harry takes the opportunity, climbing up out of the bed and fitting himself to the boy’s back, immediately reading the mischief he’s feeling. Okay, so the slow dressing was definitely on purpose.

“I’d kill to get my tongue in you right now. Would make you cry so loud we’d get noise complaints.” He runs a hand over Louis’ torso, soft with the turtleneck fabric. The boy sucks in a sharp breath and turns in his arms, raising an eyebrow. There’s arousal swirling in both of them.

“I’ve never let anyone do that before.”

“Rim you?”

“Sort of intimate, innit?” Louis bites at his cheek, pupils dilated and hands touching at his throat. Probably at the mark he’d left there. The outfit looks so damn good on him, and Harry’d thought his own was nice and dressy. They look proper ready for an actual date.

It was the plan, of course, but that doesn’t make it any less exciting.

“Are you saying you don’t want it?”

“I’m saying maybe I’ll let you if tonight goes well. I expect to be proper impressed. I still don’t know you, so if I find out you have some strange kink then this whole thing might be cancelled.”

“This might be a good time to mention my taste for tying cute boys up, then.” Harry grins, mostly joking, but can’t help his surprise when he feels a shudder run up Louis’ spine. Arousal hits the boy quickly. Quick enough that Harry doesn’t have time to brace for it, so it sinks into him as well.

“ _Oh_ —“

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t say a word, Harold, I swear to god.” Louis’ voice goes all shaky when Harry reaches down, unbuckles his belt. It jingles as he pulls it from his loops.

He takes Louis by the hips and presses him down to the huge bed, climbing up on top of him. The elder sucks in air like he can’t get enough of it, eyes wide and cheeks flushing.

“Hands.” Harry says, and Louis holds them out immediately, obediently. God.

He takes his dainty wrists and presses them up, above his head, and wraps the belt around them, securing them just tight enough that it might be a tad painful, attaching him to the bedpost so he can’t put his hands back down.

Once he’s restrained, Harry leans away and just watches. Louis’ breathing is staggering, hands in fists so tightly that his knuckles are white. There’s just something about it, with the turtleneck combined with the way he’s being so good, Harry feels like he’s on a frenzy.

Can only watch hungrily as Louis fattens up in his trousers, getting off just on this. Just on being tied up for him. Harry could do anything he wanted right now, and he’d just have to take it.

“Bloody hell, you’re beautiful.” He touches Louis’ thigh, and immediately the boy’s legs spread, the bedpost squeaking in protest when Louis pulls against his restraints. He does nothing but hurt his wrists, but maybe that was the plan, because then his eyes flutter, wriggling his hips like just the friction of his trousers against his cock is enough. It’s obscene, is what it is.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, biceps flexing under his sleeves as he hurts his wrists a little more. It sounds a lot like a plea.

“I think we have a date to get to. If I touch you we’re going to be here for hours.”

“You’re already touchin’ me.” Louis murmurs, lifting his hips so Harry’s hand on his thigh drifts up higher, so close to where he wants it but not close enough.

“If I’d known tying you up would get you like this I’d have done it ages ago.”

“Only just met yesterday, ‘arry.” Louis’ accent gets thicker when he’s turned on, and it’s so unexplainably hot.

“Semantics.” Harry leans down before Louis can come up with something else to comeback with, and noses at his cock. The boy whines, hips lifting immediately.

“God, fuck the dinner, just,” Louis sighs happily when Harry pops the button on his trousers and presses a kiss to the soft skin below his belly button. He tastes sweet. Like fruity body wash and something just so delicious.

“We’re supposed to use the dinner so we can actually get to know each other, remember?” Even as Harry says this, he reaches down and pulls Louis’ shoes back off.

“Let’s get to know each other later.” Louis says, eyes filled heavily with lust, body thrumming with it. Harry grins. It’s good enough for him.

The time isn’t wasted, anyway. A few hours later, they have UberEats pick them up some Maccas, and they feed each other chips mostly in the nude, and actually do get to know each other a bit.

Harry finds out all about Louis’ siblings and his love for football and in return, he talks about Gemma and his mum and his years of work at the bakery under his belt.

They spend most of the time snogging, always touching each other no matter what. Harry wonders if there will be a point where they have some time alone. Surely Louis will have something he can’t go to. An interview or a show or a fan greet. They’ve spent nearly 24 hours together, and yet he’s still starved for more. Louis feels like a medicine, almost. Like he’s everything Harry needs or he’ll just keel over and die.

The songs write themselves in his head, sometimes.

His magic gives him many things people would kill for, but one big one that’s especially come in use is the brain capacity. He thinks up a new song, lyrics and even the melody, all in his head, and stores it for later. Ready to write in his journal when he’s not mid-conversation with the exact boy who inspired said song.

It’s nearing 4 when a knock sounds from the door. Louis sighs like he was expecting it and stands up, not even bothering to get properly dressed, just answering the knock in briefs.

“Yeah, yeah. I won’t be late.” Louis says, closing the door and stepping back up to the bed. He reaches back into his trunk, and this time just pulls on a jumper and some comfortable jeans, tossing an oversized hoodie for Harry to wear.

“I know your shirt’s ruined. Sorry.” Louis doesn’t look sorry at all, grinning as Harry tucks his head into the hoodie and yanks his nice jeans back on. He’d been the one to ruin said shirt, anyway. Showing up to a concert with a popstar and a come-covered shirt probably isn’t smart. There will probably be paparazzi. Really, now that he’s thinking about it, Louis’ in the middle of a tour. Shouldn’t he be the one doing the concerts? Wait a minute..

“Who’s concert are we going to anyway?” He asks, not hiding his suspicious tone. Louis waggles his eyebrows and sticks his bare feet into some vans, no socks or anything. It would probably be gross if everything he did didn’t make Harry want to marry him or something.

“Guess you’re gonna find out, Curly.” Louis sticks his phone into his pocket and pulls him along, tangling their fingers together. He’s excited, more excited than someone who’s just going to see a concert. He’s nervous, too. Harry smiles, knowing who’s concert he’ll be attending by now. Even without magic, he can see the mirth so clearly.

Then, as they make their way through the hotel, Louis’ smile fades. There’s annoyance coursing through him, dread again. In the lift, he heaves a sigh and squeezes Harry’s hand once, before letting it go.

“Messy.” Louis reminds him, but Harry didn’t need the reminder. He knows the boy isn’t allowed to show his true sexuality. Knows he’s been faking a relationship with a girl for a decade. He didn’t expect to step in front of cameras holding his hand, but it definitely was easy to get caught up in their thing, forget they’re going to have to hide it.

In the lobby of the hotel, Harry starts to hear it. The hum of voices outside. As they get closer to the front entrances, he can actually see it. Paparazzi and a huge crowd of people waiting on the other side of the tinted windows, barely kept parted down the middle by hotel staff.

“Harry..I have to ask. Is this okay? I don’t think you know how, um, dedicated our fans are. We’re going to walk out of this door and within an hour they will find out who you are. You’ll be in newspapers and they’ll probably start rumours we’re together. Your privacy is going to get absolutely fucked. You’ll probably get hate, too. It’s..”

“Messy?” Harry supplies, smiling despite the heavy warning. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t really thought about this part.

The part where he’s going to be associated with a boy who’s in the biggest band in the world, all while hiding their relationship and sort of the most important secret of his entire life. Magic is hard enough to hide when he’s irrelevant. It’s dangerous, really. What if Louis’ fate claims him and Harry has to use his magic in public? He couldn’t save him the first time without it. What happens if it’s caught on camera?

“Let them, then. I’m only here for you.” Harry says anyway. Louis smiles softly, then turns to lead him to the front. There’s a car waiting for them already, just past the crowd. The _mob_ , really.

“Okay. Just keep walking and look straight ahead. If you look at the flashes you’ll go blind. Try not to fall behind..actually, you go first. Maybe you’ll block the paps from getting a good shot of me.” He grins, then leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, like a goodbye. Not to him, but to their ability to express PDA. It’s sad, really.

“If I go first it’ll definitely be a good shot.” Harry says cockily, smiling too wide so his dimples pop like crazy. Louis rolls his eyes and pushes him towards the door.

The doorman opens it up, and then there’s screaming so loud he can’t hear anything. He steps out of the door and as soon as Louis is revealed behind him, the flashes start, bright and blinding. There’s people asking who he is, shouting the questions, really. He focuses on walking straight for the waiting car door, but then the crowd of fans starts to push against the barricade of hotel security keeping them back, and the possibility of trampling becomes very real.

Then, a gentle hand settles on his waist, and he feels Louis’ happiness bubbling up, of all things. He’s not stressed, no, he _loves_ the chaos. Loves his fans. Harry lets himself be steered to the car, where a huge bodyguard opens up the backdoor and motions them inside.

His ears are ringing even after the door closes and muffles the shouting, and Louis is laughing. It’s infectious, and Harry finds himself laughing too, leaning back against the leather seats and blinking the white spots out of his vision. Why paparazzi need bright ass flash in the middle of the day, he has no clue.

“Yeah, you never really get used to that.”

“You’re, like, proper famous.” Harry breathes, turning to look at him. Louis laughs, settling a hand on his thigh and touching a kiss to his shoulder. It’s sweet.

“Just the beginning, darling. Just wait until we get to the stadium.” Louis sighs, excitement sizzling through every part of him. Pre-show adrenaline.

“Knew it was your show. If you don’t dedicate a song to me then this doesn’t count as a date.”

“As if I expected any less.” Louis tilts up into him and kisses him. They’re probably making the driver uncomfortable. Harry pulls him closer and makes a low noise, deepening the kiss. He wants to make everyone uncomfortable. Wants to scream about how much he enjoys this from the rooftops.

Or..maybe not a rooftop. He should probably steer clear of those things for a while.

-

He separates from Louis for the first time in a day when the boy sits him in a dressing room and bounds off for soundcheck. Harry pulls his journal from the large front pocket of the hoodie and opens it up, flipping to an empty page.

The song he thought up earlier floats around in his head. He writes the lyrics quickly, messily, then taps a rhythm on the paper. He can imagine how it would sound. Glancing up from his journal, he spots a guitar leaning against the wall next to various other instruments. Backups, probably. He stands up and picks up the guitar, testing out the strings. It’s tuned perfectly.

“Um..is it alright if I borrow this?” He asks a woman standing nearby. She’s holding a clipboard and talking into a headset. There’s people all over the place, too many people to meet, really.

“Sure?” She says, seeming confused but probably charmed. Harry’s got that face, after all. It’s a curse and a blessing.

He settles back into the couch and hums to himself for a few minutes, playing out various chords and notes until he finds a melody he likes. He composes, sketching out a quick stave and writing out the musical notes themselves.

He finishes the song within ten minutes. It comes quickly sometimes, if there’s something especially bright that inspires it. Louis’ definitely bright.

Everything written out, he tests the song, sort of forgetting he’s in a room with other people as he starts to play a sultry acoustic version. In his head, he knows the song would be upbeat. Hot and rock-ish. With just a guitar, he’ll just tests how the lyrics feel with the notes for now.

“Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, treat you like a gentleman..” he starts to sing. He doesn’t particularly quiet himself, but he doesn’t belt it out and distract whoever’s in the room.

“I had a few, got drunk on you and now I’m wasted, and when I sleep I’m gonna dream of how you tasted—“

“Wow, you _can_ sing!”

Harry startles, and immediately reaches out to slam his journal closed like a teenager caught watching porn. The whole boyband stands by the couch, watching him. Aiden, who’d just spoken, plops down next to him.

“Oh, I’m just..I sort of just write the things, I mostly just sing to test it..”

“Are you serious? Dude, you sing like some fuckin’ rockstar or something. Just finish the song out.” Aiden encourages. Harry chews on his lip and looks up past him and the other band mates, eyes meeting Louis’.

The boy looks mostly unreadable, staring at him with a flush in his cheeks that might just be from soundcheck. He makes a ‘go on’ motion with his hands, and Harry huffs, slowly opening his journal back to the song.

“Um..it’s a bit rude, sorry. Not really the kind of thing I usually write.” He explains, but they just encourage him again, so he sighs and starts it back up from the beginning.

Midway through the song, he looks up to Louis again, gauge his reaction.

“If you go out tonight, I’m going out cause I know you’re persuasive, you got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it..” he sings, looking right at him. Louis shifts on his toes, crossing his arms, looking almost angry.

He’s not angry, though. He’s turned on. It makes sense, as it’s a song about sex. A song about sex that Harry wrote just earlier after they’d had aforementioned sex.

Harry should probably look back to his journal, be a normal person who can’t memorise a song he’s only just written, but he isn’t a normal person, and he has it memorised. Had it memorised before he’d even transferred it onto paper from his head.

“You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh.” He finishes up the song, and very carefully keeps the guitar positioned over his crotch, only tearing his eyes from Louis’ when Liam starts to talk.

“Damn..Lou, you trying to bring him on as a writer or a frontman?”

Everyone laughs. It feels like acceptance, almost. Harry feels guilty for the trouble he’s causing just by being here, but these lads seem nice anyway. Louis doesn’t even respond to Liam, just clears his throat and steps up to Harry, picking up the guitar from his hands and setting it on the cushion next to him.

“Tour time!” He says a little too brightly, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him right out of the room. His bandmates aren’t even slightly fooled, making suggestive noises at their backs. Hands connected, Harry can feel Louis’ arousal and his need, just absolutely screaming under his skin.

“You alright, love?” Harry asks as he’s drug away, just to take the piss. He’s laughing when Louis yanks him into the toilet connected to the makeup area and locks the door.

“When did you write that?” He asks, pressing Harry against the wall and immediately putting a hand on him, palming him over his jeans.

“F-fuck, just now.” He hisses, looking down to see Louis’ thin fingers unbuttoning him and letting him free without a moment to waste.

“Aside from the fact that you wrote and composed a whole fucking song during our short soundcheck..anything in particular inspire it?” Louis asks, narrowing his sharp eyes at him and then promptly dropping to his knees and licking a fat stripe up the underside of Harry’s cock.

He scrambles to hold on to anything, bracing against the wall with a wet gasp.

“You, baby.” He groans, reaching down to get his fingers in Louis’ hair as the boy wraps his lips around him and genuinely starts to blow him. He truly wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction, but it’s definitely fitting. Not just for the song, but them as a whole.

In the short time they’ve known each other, it’s become very apparent that he and Louis can escalate quicker than a snap of his fingers. One second they’re having a conversation, and the next Harry’s two seconds from coming down the elder’s throat, which, well..

“Shit, I’m gonna—“ Louis doesn’t pull off, instead moans around him and sends vibrations all over him. Harry’s head falls back against the wall as he comes with a probably too loud moan.

He’s barely recovered when he’s tucked neatly back in his jeans. Louis stands up, knees cracking, and kisses him, giving him a taste of his own.. _medicine_ , if you will.

“I’m gonna write so many songs about you if that’s how you’re going to react.” Harry mumbles, pulling Louis closer by his hip, heart slamming in his chest.

“Only if you sing them for me. Never gonna let you shut up now that you’ve revealed that voice.” Louis replies, zipping Harry’s jeans and clearing his now worn throat.

“God, don’t you have a gig?”

“They’re all gonna know the straight one sucked cock before performing for thousands.” Louis sighs, then he grins, brighter than the sun, probably.

“I’m getting you in so much trouble in only a day.” Harry says mournfully.

“I know right? Isn’t it fun? C’mon, let’s go catch the lads snooping through your other songs.” Louis pulls the door open and strides out confidentially. He doesn’t seem to mind the few people strung about the room. They definitely heard what just happened, especially if their staring has anything to say about it.

Harry’s cheeks flush, a bit humiliated, but follows the boy back to the dressing room like a puppy. Louis might be a bit of an exhibitionist.

Harry might be as well, though, so it’s probably fine.

-

He’s shown to the box seat, a private area to view the show from an incredible spot. He sits at the bar in front of the viewing window with a bit of whiskey, looking down at the stadium. Its filled to the brim with fans, the noise level already up just from the anticipation.

“You’re new.” A woman with long brown hair settles into the seat next to him with a mimosa. She’s startlingly pretty, model thin, and legs long enough to rival Harry’s.

“Is it obvious? I’m Harry.” He holds out a hand.

“Eleanor.” She settles a nicely manicured hand in his, and Harry is at once relaxed. She’s kind, this one.

A handshake is a bit of a different thing for him, always has been. With one touch to someone, Harry knows what they’re feeling, what their intentions are at that moment. If he really wanted to, could have a peek at every memory they’ve had and even their future if it was necessary. It’s quite useful, because he knows whether or not to continue a conversation with someone after a handshake. He’s just lucky it happened to become a regular thing, to shake hands as a greeting.

Eleanor is comfortable, with the regular worry and stress that comes with every person, but there’s not a single ill intention in her body. She’s truly just here to make friends with him, to be nice. Saw him sitting alone and wanted to be kind, probably.

“Do a lot of people usually come sit up here?” Harry asks, taking a sip of his drink as their hands separate.

“Not really, no. It’s the sort of thing you have to be personally escorted to, which is why I came to introduce myself. We haven’t had anyone new in a while. Are you just here for the London shows?”

“Um, not exactly. I’m joining the rest of the tour. I’m coming in to help write the next album.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows raise, and she smiles dazzlingly.

“Oh wow! That’s lovely. You must be great at it if they’re taking you along like this. Congratulations.” She’s really sincere, and it’s just nice all around. Harry flushes, not particularly used to compliments, especially about something that before yesterday only Niall knew about.

“Thank you. What about you? Are you, um, makeup? No, no, PR?” He tries to guess, and she laughs, a high pretty thing that causes a few heads to turn and smile, infected.

“Ah, no. Good guess, though. I’m just the girlfriend. I come to see Louis as often as I can around my own schedule.”

Oh. _Oh_.

This is the girlfriend. Louis’ fake girlfriend for a decade now. The one that he’s dating as far as millions of people are aware of. It makes sense that she would introduce herself as such. She couldn’t possibly know that Harry’s just had his cocked sucked by her pretend boyfriend. It’s almost funny in a way.

He wonders just how many people actually know the truth. Louis didn’t seem to care too much about the crew seeing them together, so surely a good bit of his team as a whole knows. How deep does it go, though? How many people in this room know?

“Louis, right. You two been together for a long time, right?” He asks. This information doesn’t make him any less determined to make friends. It’s not Eleanor’s fault she’s a beard, after all. She’s sweet and kind and just like most people in this room, just doing her job.

“Yeah, almost a decade now. It’s definitely been a bit chaotic.”

“Worth it, though? He’s worth it?” Harry can’t remember if this is something normal to say to someone he’s just met, but Eleanor chuckles, touching her mimosa to her lips to have a sip.

“He’s worth it.” She’s saved from having to fully answer when the lights dim a bit, the show starting below them. Harry downs the rest of his whiskey and leans forward to watch.

The reality check doesn’t exactly deter him. Eleanor’s soft smile and her gorgeous face lighting up as they talk about Harry’s soulmate definitely does _not_ make him jealous. It would be silly to be jealous of a fake relationship, even if the fake relationship is with a sweet model with a kind heart.

He’s only known Louis for one full day. It’s too early to be down that he can’t flaunt the boy around. It’s too early to be annoyed that he can’t kiss him for everyone to see.

And yet, it settles low in his gut, the unsatisfying knowledge that he won’t be able to show Louis off for god knows how long.

_He’s worth it,_ Eleanor’s voice rings through his head, and Harry smiles, watching the boys come out onto the stage and greet the audience.

He’s worth it.


	2. the medicine

Louis’ bouncing around for hours after the show, strung up and adrenaline pumping through him. He takes Harry outside of the stadium into a lot with tour buses and the distant sound of people shouting and they kick around a football, trying to use up some of the boy’s energy before he kills someone.

“So, I met Eleanor during the show.” Harry says as soon as Louis drops the ball onto the concrete. The boy looks to him with wide eyes, fingers pausing where he was pulling socks over the bottoms of his jeans.

“Did you?” He looks surprised enough that Harry’s left to wonder if he even knew she was coming. The thought is comforting and also disappointing at the same time. She’s really nice, after all. Someone should at least tell Louis she’s around.

“Yeah. She’s really kind, I might love her a little.” Harry smiles, kicking the ball back to Louis when it’s sent to him. Louis shows off a bit, dribbling the ball between his feet for a minute before he kicks it back. This sporty side of him might be a bit (bit as in lot) of a turn on, but Harry pushes that away. Probably shouldn’t offer to fuck him when he can heart the vague sound of cameras clicking behind them.

“Should I be worried? Don’t want you stolen before I’ve even had you for a week.”

“Definitely be worried. I’m booking a flight to Vegas to elope as soon as possible,” Harry chuckles, but can only keep the bit up for so long before the question comes rushing out of him all at once, “who can I tell?”

“What do you mean tell?” Louis asks, kicking the ball. Harry forgets to catch it, foot kicking out far too late, and it rolls away behind him. Louis only frowns about it for a minute, crossing his arms against the cold and stepping up to him, keeping a very platonic distance between them.

“About us. Like, should I not tell her I know she’s a beard? Should I not tell your hairstylist about how much I like your eyes?”

“You talked to Lou about me?”

“Should I not?”

Louis shifts on the balls of his feet and hums, stepping closer even though he probably shouldn’t.

“Generally, anyone with an all access pass is safe. Anyone who I hold your hand around. People you probably shouldn’t tell are random staff workers we don’t know. Fans. Paparazzi. Journalists who sneak into the building in a bin.”

“Has that actually happened?”

“You’d be surprised.” Louis laughs, kicking his foot out to touch Harry’s boot. It’s probably the most physical he’s going to be with cameras on them.

“So what do I say anyway? To the people I can tell? Do I say I’m the writer?”

“Or you could say you’re my boyfriend, if you’d like.” Louis smiles, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, face so soft Harry might cry.

“Did you just ask me out when you know we’re being seen so I can’t kiss you?” He asks, heart pounding.

“Maybe. You gonna give me an answer before I get nervous?”

“Yeah,” Harry says breathlessly, “of course I’ll be your boyfriend. Even though I don’t even know when your birthday is.”

Louis laughs, head thrown back and everything, the prettiest picture of all time. He reaches out and pokes Harry in the side.

“It’s Christmas Eve. Should be easy to remember. Let’s go inside so I can snog you in a storage closet.” Louis then takes off back to the side door. The people lined up against the fence on the edge of the park start screaming, hoping for a wave or who knows what. Harry doubles back for the football and tucks it under his arm, waving to the people as he chases after the boy.

Scratch that, as he chases after _his_ boy.

-

47 minutes after Louis has fallen asleep, Harry uncurls himself from his hold and steps out onto the hotel balcony, wrapping himself in Louis’ Donny Rovers throw blanket and dials his mum.

“Harry? You okay?” She answers on the second ring. It’s nearly midnight, but he can hear the telly in the background, so he’s relieved to find he didn’t wake her up.

“Yeah, sorry to call so late. Took a while to get alone. Um..” he takes a deep breath, and maybe it’s just motherly instincts or maybe she hears it in his voice, but,

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Harry closes his eyes and curls into a ball on the balcony chair, doing nothing to stop the tears that sting his eyes. There’s nothing like his mum’s voice to bring it all out at once.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” He asks, voice shaky and unstable.

“Sure. I like to think Robin and I were meant to be together. Why do you ask?”

“Because I think I met mine. When I say soulmates, I mean, like..it’s hard to explain. I didn’t need to touch him like I usually do. When our eyes first met, I just knew, I guess? Like, I’ve only known him for a day and I’ve dropped out to join him on his tour because he’s a rich popstar in a band and also I may have saved him from dying and nearly exposed myself and I’m getting premonitions again.” He takes a staggering breath, and the other line is silent for a few very long moments.

“You.. _what_?”

Harry presses the heel of his hand to his wet eyes and gets comfortable in his seat. He’s going to be here for a while.

“Okay, so I went out with drinks with Niall..”

Two hours later, he climbs back into the bed, scooping Louis up and pulling him close.

“Where’d you go?” The boy asks in a sleepy mumble, probably not even fully awake.

“Just for a chat. My mum wants to meet you.” Harry replies, touching his lips to Louis’ head and feeling how content he is with a smile.

“Mmm, is she as lovely as you?” He asks, shivering as he tangles his cold feet with Harry’s.

“More lovely than I could ever hope to be.” Harry sighs, and Louis makes a small noise just to let him know he’s heard, and promptly falls back asleep.

He’s soon to follow, happy now that he’s talked it out with his mum and gotten her blessing, and even more happy as he can feel Louis’ own happiness.

-

He wakes up in a very familiar forest. 

He isn’t scared, because he’s been here quite a few times now. He knows he isn’t physically here, that merely his soul is, beckoned by the man who’s taught him everything he knows about his magic. The only person apart from his mum who knows about what he really is.

“Mark?” He calls, stepping out from behind a large pine tree.

“Hello, Harry.” The man sits on a tree trunk, glasses perched on his nose, clad in pyjamas. Likely, his physical body is sleeping as well.

“Mum called, didn’t she?” Harry sighs, kicking at leaves below his feet and trying to ignore the way he feels embarrassed. As if he’s 13 again, having to face the man when he’d accidentally caused a bit of flooding after he’d failed his maths exam.

“Yes. I figured I’d get a call after that storm and power outage yesterday. She says you’ve met your soulmate? Used your magic conspicuously?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, head bowed shamefully, “I couldn’t control it. I tried to figure out how to save him without using it, but in that split second I just did it anyway. I don’t think he noticed, anyway. It was only a second.”

“And you love him?”

Harry stills, eyes wide when he looks back up to the man, heart pounding in his chest.

“W-what?”

“You don’t have to be ashamed, Harry. Soulmates are very real and also very rare. When you met him, was it like finding your other half? Like you’ll never need anything else?”

“Yes,” Harry slumps down onto a tree stump with a sigh, “it’s overwhelming. I’ve only just met him.”

“This isn’t like falling in love. Soulmates are meant to be together. It’s not a question of if you love him, it’s a question of when you think it’s appropriate to tell him so.”

“Isn’t it dangerous? With my magic? When I kissed him, the storm got so bad. When we..I caused a power outage, Mark. Every time I touch him my magic, like, vibrates almost? Like it can’t get enough.”

“Do you remember how you had to learn to control you magic with Ben?”

“Yeah.” Harry tries not to flinch at the sound of his name.

“This isn’t going to be like that. When you’re soulmate is around, your magic will pull you towards him. You won’t be able to control it. Harry, I know I’ve told you how important our number one rule is, but don’t be afraid, okay? Louis will most definitely find out about you, and I don’t want you to fight that.”

“I never told mum his name.” Harry accuses, pointing a finger in confusion.

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about your gift. Your mum could never tell Robin about her magic, just as I could never tell my wife, but this is different. He’s your soulmate. No matter how good you hide it, he’s going to find out. The only thing you can do is hope he doesn’t freak out too much.”

“What if he leaves?” Harry asks in a small voice, chest aching just at the thought.

“He won’t. I have to go now, but you enjoy your time with him, yeah? Don’t lose yourself and remember that even though his mortal body can’t fully comprehend what is happening, his soul knows what it wants. He’s yours, just be happy you found him. Many don’t ever get the chance.”

“Mark! I have so many questions!” Harry complains, taking a step towards him.

“Later. Congrats, Harry. Go back to sleep, now.” Mark smiles in the way he always has. Knowingly. Always knowing more than Harry is allowed. Never giving him all of the information.

Harry pouts, and begrudgingly returns to his unconscious body. He’ll ask his questions later.

-

“Please, allow me, Mr. Styles.” George cuts in to take his trunk and his rucksack.

“I’ll allow you if you stop addressing me like an old man.” Harry says with a grin. George smiles, nodding and grasping the handle of his suitcase.

“Sure, Harry.” He says, flushing like he’s not used to a first name basis with people.

“You charming my whole crew already? I think you’re already everyone’s favourite.” Louis steps into the room, tossing his own bags down carelessly, as if there isn’t a whole damn closet for his things.

“I can’t help it. We’re in Manchester on an incredible tour. Can you believe it, Georgie?” Harry turns and gives George a wide grin. The boy’s red as a tomato, putting their combined bags together and standing at attention as if either Louis or Harry are royalty.

“I can’t, Harry. Would you like help unpacking?”

“Oh, you’ve helped plenty enough. Please, go enjoy the hotel. I hear there’s a lazy river in the pool room.”

“I’ll check it out. Thank you. Have a good night.” George trips his way out of the room, glancing back only twice. Harry chuckles and flops back onto the huge nice bed, arms above his head.

“It’s barely been three days, can you please stop flirting with everyone who breathes in your direction?” Louis huffs, climbing up onto him, straddling his hips. He’s all tan and golden, after only an _hour_ in the warm sun earlier while they toured the outdoor part of the stadium for the show tomorrow. Harry, on the other hand, hasn’t tanned even a little. If anything, he probably would’ve burned if they were out for a bit longer.

“You getting jealous?” He asks, his shirt riding up as he stretches his arms above his head higher. Louis watches the sliver of skin grow, immediately reaching down to touch at his ferns.

“Of course I am. Everyone went from hating you to loving you more than anyone else on the team. At this point you might as well be in the band.” Louis bends down over him and kisses his jaw.

Harry doesn’t need to be told. He knows he’s winning everyone over, that had sort of been the plan. What he didn’t expect, was the media reaction. Within a few hours of Harry and Louis leaving his hotel together, the fans found out his name. Then, out of nowhere, he’d gained thousands of followers on all of his social media. Niall called him _fifteen_ times when the video of them playing football got posted. He called even more after Harry texted and casually mentioned he might be dating Louis Tomlinson. Officially. Well, as officially as one can be dating in a hidden relationship.

It’s sort of fun, is the thing. They’re sneaking around like teenagers, finding secret corners to snog in when they’re in public, holding hands backstage, just out of view of the crowd, giving each other heated looks from across the crowded rooms when they can’t interact.

It’s been three days, and yet there’s the pitter patter of rain at the window the moment their kiss gets a little too heated. Louis pulls away and looks up to the window.

“Was rain on the forecast? I thought it was sunny all day?” Louis’ brows furrow in confusion.

“October is the wettest month of the year, I think it comes and goes.” Harry hopes he isn’t making anything up, swallowing thickly. Louis hums and easily drops it, not caring to look into the strange fact that it fucking rains every time they go further than kissing because Harry’s a magical fuck who can’t control himself.

Not his fault, he has to remember. He can’t control himself because Louis is his soulmate. He wonders how the boy would react if he told him he loves him now.

_I just want it to be you and I forever_.

It’s only been two days since he wrote Medicine, and yet another one is mingling it’s way in.

Maybe it’s because Louis isn’t trying to have sex. He’s just kissing him. All over. In a painfully _loving_ way and it’s doing a lot to Harry’s heart. He reaches for the boy, gets his hand on him, desperate to feel what he’s feeling.

The unexplainable feeling thrumming under Louis’ skin is so strong it takes the breath right out of his lungs. It’s a warm, light, happy-central feeling that takes over his entire centre, muddying up his sadness and his worries.

Louis loves him, even if he doesn’t realise that’s what this feeling is yet.

“Baby,” Harry breathes, eyes prickling as they fill up with emotion. As if he didn’t know it would happen. They’re soulmates, it’s impossible not to happen, but there’s just something about actually feeling it in him. Ben’s love was never like this. It never coursed through his veins like fire.

_We’re on fire, we’re on fire now_.

“Oh, what’s wrong, Haz?” Louis shifts up higher on him, touching soft fingers to his cheeks and swiping away his tears as they fall. His eyes are so blue, Worry spiking through him. Harry laughs through his tears, pulling him down for a wet kiss.

Louis kisses him back gently, reaching up and scratching at his scalp. It sends a comforting zing up his spine, and his magic starts to calm a bit. Harry presses up into it and slips his hands under the boy’s jumper, touching at the warm skin of his lower back. This time, he lets that love seep out of Louis and right into him.

The elder separates their lips, and touches the corner of his eye.

“Why’re you crying?” He asks, voice so soothing it almost hurts. Maybe it’s an eldest brother thing, but he’s rather fantastic at dealing with emotional people.

“Just feeling..a lot.” Harry replies vaguely, taking a deep breath and hoping he doesn’t pry. It’s definitely too early to say he loves him. Louis doesn’t even realise that’s what he’s feeling yet.

“Do you want to watch a movie? We could head down to the pool, too.” He leans back and peels off his jumper, and Harry’s blood runs cold.

“Is that my shirt?” He asks in hoarse whisper. Louis laughs and talks about how he swiped it when they were packing him up for the trip. Harry swallows thickly and sits up, nuzzling unto Louis neck and desperately feeling his love so he doesn’t cause a fucking tornado outside.

It’s the same shirt he wore during that scary blue-lipped premonition of sorts.

“You’re being more strange than usual.” Louis comments, sounding like he’s smiling.

“Let’s just stay in, yeah? We can visit the pool tomorrow.” Harry tries his hardest to sound casual.

“Sure, H. You want a rom-com or just rom?”

Harry smiles, chuckling in relief. Louis was dripping wet in that scary warning. As long as they steer clear of pools, it should be fine. Right?

-

Harry wakes up from nothing else but his magic. He sits up to find various items around the room levitating, dancing around. There’s something spiky poking at his heart, forcing him to be up and alert before he even realises he’s alone.

He scrambles out of bed and finds a note on the bedside table.

‘Ur too cute to wake! Nic & I went for a late night dip. Be back soon. -L xx’

Harry sucks in a breath and looks to the clock. It’s nearing midnight. The pool area would probably be closed unless there’s popstars they’re willing to keep it open for. It only takes a moment for the hotel’s blueprints to appear in his mind. It’s five minutes if he sprints his heart out and takes the stairs. Fifteen if he takes the lift. Twenty if a single person stops him along the way.

“Too slow, too slow, fuck.” Harry knows he’s going to do it. He can’t take the risk of added time. Not when his fingertips are tingling. Not when he can just _feel_ that something’s wrong.

He braces himself with a deep breath and closes his eyes. In an instant, the smell of chlorine hits his nose and the sound of rushing water floods his ears. He opens his eyes and he’s in the pool area. Immediately, he sets off, eyes scanning every inch of the place. He’s only slightly woozy from the teleport. To be fair, he hasn’t used it a whole lot in his life. Mostly, he used it when he was home alone and didn’t feel like walking down all of the steps to grab a snack.

Nicolò is napping in a tube down the lazy river. Harry keeps going, knowing asking where the boy is will just cause more questions and more time wasted.

He nearly passes up the changing area completely, but his magic spikes, and then he’s turning, walking into the locker room. There’s a shower on in the back. Maybe he’s just showering? Maybe he’s totally fine and this is nothing? Or maybe despite the fact that he’s postponing fate, his magic knows he can’t lose him.

He rounds the corner, and his stomach flips. The water of the shower is freezing cold, beating down on the boy who lies supine, eyes closed and mouth slacked. He’s fully clothed, still in Harry’s shirt and his jeans. There’s water all over the place and blood seeping from his head. Harry can only assume he slipped and fell. Hit his head.

He makes a strangled noise and reaches in, picking him up out of the freezing spray and setting him down on dry floor. Touching him, Harry’s knees nearly give out. His centre is weak, barely there. Two more minutes and it would have been too late to save him.

“C’mon, baby, come back. I’m right here.” Harry moans painfully, touches the back of his head and stops the bleeding immediately, heals the wound. He bends down over him and presses a kiss to Louis’ blue lips, giving him warmth, calling his soul to stay here. With a hand over his heart, he wills it to beat once more.

Within a few minutes, the colour starts returning to Louis’ cheeks. His heart starts to beat once more.

“That’s it, Lou. You’ll be okay. I’ll keep you safe.” Harry sobs. He’s lightheaded from how much he’s giving right now. How much of his energy he’s having to sacrifice to bring the boy back, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, sobbing as it aches himself painfully.

He doesn’t stop until Louis wakes with a gasp, eyes opening. His eyes are completely white for a few seconds, before they fade slowly back to his pretty blue. He’s making horrible gasping noises, hands shaking and weakly scrambling to grab anything.

Harry puts himself in his vision, cups his cheeks.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe, baby. C’mon, take a breath.”

Louis looks at him, eyes wide and completely terrified, hands clutching his arm tight enough that he’s going to leave bruises. He inhales slowly, shaking terribly like he’s still frozen.

Harry shivers as well, because Louis’ strong emotions are affecting him, now. He’s completely scared in a way that Harry’s never felt before. Given, he hasn’t felt many frightened people. The most he’s felt is his mum after they’d gotten in a car accident years ago. Everyone was fine, so she was only terrified for a minute.

This is chilling him to the bone.

“I died.” Louis chokes out, shaking so bad Harry might need to will him unconscious so he doesn’t have a heart attack.

“I did CPR. You’re back now. Please keep breathing, Lou, you’re freaking out too much.”

Louis takes a breath, and abruptly starts to cry.

Harry cups a hand around his head and the other around his waist, pulling him up into a hug. Louis absolutely _wails_ in a way that’s heartbreaking. He clings onto Harry, and his emotions are devastating. He can’t do anything but hold him, rock them gently and hope he will be okay soon.

“It’s just nothing.” Louis sobs, shaking worryingly hard.

“What is?” Harry asks.

“Death. There’s no afterlife. It’s just nothingness. No heaven, no hell, nothing to cling onto. It’s just—just..” he sobs and fully body shivers as he remembers.

Harry swallows thickly, holding him tighter.

“Your heart’s beating too fast, baby. I think you should sleep.”

Louis falls limp in his arms, Harry’s magic calming his heart and his head, lulling him into unconsciousness. In a blink of an eye, they’re back in the hotel room. Harry bathes the boy while he’s out, warming him up and relaxing his muscles, then he wraps him in his softest clothing and tucks him into bed. With Louis’ phone, he sends Nicolò a text saying he came back up to the room.

Only after they’ve both settled, does the exhaustion finally slide in. It takes a lot of his energy to bring someone back to life, especially when his soul had nearly left him. The moment his head hits the pillow, he’s out as well.

-

Louis’ awake before him the next day.

It’s immediately worrying, because Louis isn’t that much of a morning person. He would rather lie in bed for three hours and hastily get dressed for the day in the last ten minutes. He’s late to pretty much everything he goes to.

Yet, he’s up first. Sat next to Harry up against the headboard. His knees are pulled to his chest and he’s holding a steaming mug of tea. He isn’t drinking it, just holding it and staring straight ahead.

Harry sits up against the headboard as well, reaching for him, but hesitates. He doesn’t know exactly what state the boy is in right now. Won’t know until he touches him, of course, but the boy could very well freak out if he does. He’s in some sort of shock, clearly.

“Can I touch you?” Harry asks in a murmur, voice raspy from sleep.

Louis blinks and reaches out to the bedside table, setting down his tea, then turns back to him and takes a shaky breath.

“Of course you can.” He mumbles, then reaches out first, taking Harry’s hand. He’s confused, more than anything. Terrified and confused.

“What happened—“

“Why did you come to the showers?” Louis interrupts. He doesn’t sound accusatory, just genuinely confused. Harry keeps their eyes connected. Knows if he looks away it’ll be obvious he’s lying.

He’s a good liar about this particular subject. Not much about anything else. His magic? He could spin the story as hard as he needs to. Still, though, he hears Mark’s voice in his head. Reminding him that he doesn’t need to be afraid of Louis finding out. That he _will_ find out. It’s just..well it’s early, isn’t it? The boy’s in the middle of a tour and they’ve known each other for all of four days.

“I woke up to your note. Came down to join you and found you like that.” Harry says. Technically, it’s the truth.

“I slipped, didn’t I? I bled out and died. I was dead for hours.” Louis’ heart rate spikes as he mentions it, the fear surfacing quickly.

“No, love. If you were dead for hours I wouldn’t have been able to bring you back. You must’ve only been out for minutes.” It’s not exactly true. He could’ve been dead for an hour. His soul hadn’t fully left his body, so it was merely a matter of making his physical body come back. By the blue colour of his lips, he was probably gone for closer to forty-five minutes.

“I just don’t get it. I don’t have, like, a gash on my head, or even merely a headache. It’s as if it was all a dream, but it wasn’t. I was laying there trying to breathe while the water was hitting me and I just couldn’t move. Then it was like a light switch and I was nothing. I was nothing and I was surrounded by nothing. It wasn’t exactly black, it was like a void. Just empty.”

“Are you sure you died? Maybe it was just you being unconscious?” Harry supplies, hating the thought of that. Of nothingness.

“I dunno, maybe I was in between? Here and after? How did you bring me back?”

“I’m a med student, Lou. Your main problem was the hypothermia. You were in that freezing water for long enough that your skin was losing colour. Should I..do you want to call Daniel? Cancel the show tonight?”

Louis blinks, surprise zipping through him as if he’d forgotten who he is or something. Maybe he had. Harry’s heavily considering removing the whole thing from his memory, but he might never be able to forgive himself if he did that.

It’s one thing to know exactly what Louis is feeling by a simple touch. It’s another thing altogether to manipulate that.

“No, I don’t want to cancel. I think I’m just processing. Can you..” he squeezes Harry’s hand with a shaky breath. Harry can feel his fear and his want. It’s not arousal want, this time. It’s just simple want. Need.

“You want to watch Friends?” He suggests, and Louis nods, immediately lowering himself into the duvet. Harry pulls him in, wrapping all of his limbs around him and switching on the telly. He flicks through the channels until he finds the show, it’s always playing, and then pets through the boy’s hair.

He doesn’t seem to be even watching, just listening to the white noise as Harry holds him. Maybe that’s just what he needs. To be held for a bit. Coddled even if he doesn’t want to admit he needs it.

Harry definitely won’t disappoint.

-

Louis sleeps for quite a while, nose to his neck and breathing slowly. Even asleep, the confusion and fear don’t quite fade. Harry holds him the entire time, and only untangles them to answer the door when the food he orders arrives.

“Thank you.” Harry smiles to the delivery man, shutting the door and checking the bag to make sure he got everything.

“‘Arry?” Louis calls softly.

“Just got us some soup.” He steps back into the room and smiles at the sight of the boy, hair sticking up in odd directions and eyes puffy from sleep.

“What time is it?”

“About an hour until soundcheck. Figured you should eat sometime today.” Harry sits on the edge of the bed as Louis sits up and takes out the bowls of soup, handing the warm container to the boy, passing him a spoon as well. They eat in silence for about two minutes, before Harry realises Louis’ just sort of staring at him, expression unreadable.

“What is it?” Harry asks, wiping at the corners of his mouth like he might have something stuck there. Louis smiles, stirring his soup around.

“You’ve saved my life twice now.”

“Not sure that first time counts. You let go, remember?” He smiles, trying to keep the mood up, panicking a bit. Any moment Louis could ask questions he doesn’t have the answers to. And then he will know and then what?

“Only because I didn’t realise what was really on the other side. It does count, still. You’re like..my own personal superhero.”

It’s ironically quite accurate. Harry laughs, setting his empty bowl down and leaning back onto his elbow.

“So..you’re alright now? I mean, as alright as you can be?”

“I suppose. I’m not in shock anymore, no. Mostly just thinking about how lucky it is that you happen to be there. Both times, too. It’s like, fuck..it’s like fate sometimes. You make me believe in shit I never did before.” Louis sets down his soup as well, laughing at himself. Harry grins, reaching out to touch his ankle, feeling that love again. It warms him all the way to his toes.

“Me too. I feel like life before you was blurry and pointless.”

Louis giggles, reaching out to slap his chest weakly.

“You’re so sappy.”

Harry raises an eyebrow and tightens his hand around the boy’s ankle, pulling him right down the bed so he can reach his face, leaning down and kissing him while he’s surprised.

“Don’t think I’ll ever want anything as much as you,” Harry pulls back only to trail kisses down his neck, “you make me feel alive. Wish I could show you off. All those girls throwing themselves at you, makes me wanna just..“

“You’re one to talk. Have you seen your Instagram comments lately?” Louis replies, hand reaching up to Harry’s hair. His heart is beating quickly, only this time it’s not even close to panic.

“Not really, actually. Haven’t been on my phone much at all. I guess I’m a bit distracted.” He lifts his lips from Louis’ chest so he can smile at him. The boy smiles back, but it’s a bit weak. He reaches up, cups Harry’s jaw a bit, then with his other hand he presses a thumb to his cheek.

“I feel like something’s changed.” He says, eyes searching Harry’s like he’s looking for something. He’s confused, but that love doesn’t fade.

“How do you mean?” Harry replies, tilting his head into the elder’s hand.

“I dunno. I feel different.”

“About us?”

“No. I just feel like..impatient? I feel like everything’s temporary.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” Harry raises an eyebrow, probably being cheeky. Louis doesn’t laugh, and within seconds dread is soaking into him, taking over that love quicker than Harry can even attempt to stop it.

“I feel like I won’t get everything I want. With you, specifically. I feel like we’re going to end in a very permanent way.”

“Is this because of what happened last night?”

“Of course it is. What if you didn’t bring me back? What if you found me and it was too late?”

“You can’t think about ‘what ifs’, Lou, it’ll fuck you up mentally. You’re fine. We’re fine, see?” Harry takes his hand, brings it up to his neck, touching his fingers to his pulse point. Louis feels his own heartbeat for just a minute before he reaches up, touching Harry’s instead.

“It was so cold..while I was dying. They say your life flashes before your eyes but I didn’t get that. I was just really cold, and scared, and I didn’t call for my mum or god or anything like you see in movies. I called for you.”

“Louis—“

“I was choking on my own blood and I was using all of my energy to whisper your name, even though I knew you couldn’t hear me. I’ve never been so scared in my life, but I was mostly scared because I remembered your face that day on the roof. I told you to let go and you looked so..and I couldn’t stop thinking about the face you would make if you found out I’d died.” he closes his eyes as he remembers, and Harry makes a helpless noise as he feels _guilt_ run through the boy. As if it’s his fault.

“I let go of that ledge because it seemed easier than continuing on with all of the bullshit and the stress and I’m sorry for that.” His eyes well up and he reaches up to cover them, frowning deeply.

“It’s not your fault, baby. You deal with a lot of shit, wanting out isn’t that crazy of a concept. I can’t even imagine trying to do what you’re doing.”

“Sure, but wouldn’t you agree it’s selfish? My siblings have already lost their mum and sister, and I just let go. As if they don’t need their brother—“

“Louis, stop. Right now, if we were on that rooftop again, would you let go?”

“No.” There isn’t an ounce of hesitation in him.

“So stop beating yourself up. Sometimes people get in so deep they lose their perspective. You got to the point of depression where you couldn’t see past the dark.”

“How did you pull me up?”

Harry startles a bit, blinking down at him. Louis’ still touching his cheek, eyes narrowed as he completely changes the subject.

“What?”

“You were holding yourself up with your other hand. If you’d let go, you would have fallen too, but you pulled me up with both hands. You did it so quickly it was almost, like, superhuman.”

Harry attempts to control his racing heart, ever aware of Louis’ wondering hands which are highly capable of feeling his pulse out now.

“I dunno. Maybe it was the adrenaline? I don’t really remember those few seconds. I was really emotionally strung just then.”

“Wait,” Louis blinks as he remembers something, “you’ve saved my life three times, actually! When you..how did you know Trish’s car was a yellow bug?”

He’s getting all of his suspicions out at once, it seems. Harry peeks over to the clock on the wall.

“I saw her arrive. We got there around the same time. Speaking of arriving, we should probably get up and get dressed. If we don’t leave for soundcheck soon you’ll be late.”

“Sorry,” Louis starts, hand dropping from his face to his arm, touching at his bicep with a torn expression.

“For what?”

“The interrogation. You’re just..I feel like you aren’t human sometimes. Like I’m gonna ask you something you can’t explain and you’re going to tell me you’re a sparkly vampire who can read my mind.”

Harry tries to ignore the way his magic tingles, covering up his panic with a laugh.

“I’m only there when you’re in trouble just to try and get a taste of that blood.” He bares his teeth with a silly hiss, and Louis grins so wide his eyes crinkle.

“Ugh, take me now.” He says, dramatically throwing his head back to expose his neck.

Harry hisses again and latches on, going for a nip. He feels the pain shock through Louis’ system, immediately followed by the boy’s hand tightening on his arm, a sweet gasp falling from his lips.

He goes in a second time, sucking the blood to the surface. Louis tries to hide his whimper, but he can’t hide the arousal that flows through him.

Harry leans up away from his work, watching the lovebite form, bright and obvious.

“Now they’ll know you’re mine.” He says, touching a thumb to the fresh bite.

“Fuck. Claiming me, really?” Louis asks breathlessly.

“Not into it?” Harry replies, despite knowing he is. Can feel it coursing in him. Wants to give him everything, but is ever aware of the time.

“It’s gonna show in the photos. They’re gonna think it was her.” Louis murmurs. He doesn’t need to say a name. Harry knows which her he’s talking about.

“Maybe we’ll step outside and I’ll kiss you in front of all of them.”

“Would be such a shit show.” He doesn’t sound opposed, all warm and wriggly under him.

“We should definitely get up.”

“Yeah.” Louis agrees, even as he presses up into him, eyelashes fluttering.

They’re only twenty minutes late, and only after they appear red-lipped and heart-eyed in multiple photos while leaving the hotel.

-

“Harry, I hear it’s going to be your first time out of England.”

He startles, looking up from his phone, where he’s spent the last half hour trying to convince Niall to join them in America later in the tour. Eleanor settles into the seat next to him with a warm smile.

“Yeah. I hear it’s not yours.” Harry grins.

“Definitely not. If it makes you feel any better, it never really gets old, the sights and all. It’s incredible every time, especially when you have someone to share it with.”

Harry locks his phone and looks at her. She’s just smiling. In a distinctly knowing way.

“Eleanor, I-I—“

“Please, Harry. It’s alright. It’s always relieving to know I don’t have to lie with someone anymore. I can be myself.” He sips at her drink, smile never leaving her lips. She’s calm, content. Harry can feel it around her, doesn’t really need to touch her to confirm it.

“I imagine it’s lonely. Your job, I mean. It feels unfair for everyone involved.” Harry stabs at the ice in his own glass with his straw, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s not terrible. I’ve made many friends doing this. I’ve gotten opportunities I never would have before. I have someone to go home to between tours. The company I have here isn’t bad either. Louis is..well, he’s a lot more than the media likes to portray him as. You’ve changed him, you know.”

“How?”

“He’s happier. In a way I never thought I’d see him again. He was slipping away and by the time we realised he was, he was too far gone. Our meetings were reduced to fake smiles and complete silence. Just in the last few days, he’s come back.”

“Come back?”

“It’s a good thing,” her eyes flicker behind Harry, “I’d love to continue, but he might kill me if I say nice things about him.”

A hand settles onto Harry’s shoulder, fingers slipping under his collar and touching the bare skin underneath, hand tight on the back of his neck in a way that can only mean one thing.

_Jealousy_.

“You corrupting my boy, El?” Louis asks, reaching down to pick up Harry’s drink and taking a sip.

“Of course, Louis. What kind of friend do you take me for?”

“The kind who forgets to close her eyes during a staged kiss.” Louis spins Harry’s stool and plops down right in his lap. He’s dressed for the show, even wearing his earpieces. Hair all spiked in a hot messy fringe. The jealousy hasn’t faded yet.

“Fuck off, as if you were any more convincing that day.” Eleanor laughs, rolling her eyes.

Harry looks around them, at the people scattered around the room. Nobody’s really staring at them. At Louis sat in his lap with his supposed girlfriend sitting across from them. Louis sitting in his lap because he’s jealous of his fake girlfriend. It’s almost funny. It _is_ funny, actually.

“Don’t you have a show to put on, love?” Harry asks, settling a hand onto Louis’ thigh. High enough so when he squeezes the boy swallows audibly.

“You gonna walk me to the stage?”

Harry huffs a laugh, turning him to stand up, following after him. He rolls his eyes to Eleanor, and she just waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

The moment they pass up an empty room, he pulls Louis inside. It’s some sort of storage closet, but all that matters is they’re alone. He presses the boy against the wall, raising an eyebrow.

“Not sure I have time for a quickie, Harold. Show starts in twenty.” Louis quips, though he doesn’t sound like he’s in a hurry, hands drifting underneath his shirt, eyes swimming with want. It’s been a few days since their first time together. Since they went all the way, not just blowies or quick hands on each other.

“Don’t you have a reputation to uphold? Sitting on my lap in the box seats isn’t exactly platonic.”

“I guess I don’t care who sees.”

“Right, you only care if I make friends with pretty girls.”

Louis chews on the inside of his lip, fingers teasing at the waistband of his jeans.

“Can you blame me? You were, like, smiling at her and shit. Everyone’s looking at you all the time, especially when you started wearing these fucking hipster button downs.” He pokes at Harry’s exposed stomach, his top buttons all undone.

“We were talking about you.”

“You were?” Louis asks, hands still touching him.

“Of course we were. I’m yours, remember?”

Louis smiles softly, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He’s feeling apprehensive, for some reason. After a moment, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a blue bandana.

“Got this in Nashville. Me and the boys each have one, same colours as our mics. It’s not, like, incredibly well known, but it’ll only take one person to put two and two together.” Louis folds the bandana until it’s nice and thin. Harry’s confused for a minute, until the boy reaches up and wraps it around his neck, tying it over his collarbones like a necklace. Like a branding, almost. A loud bright blue, it clashes with everything he’s wearing, stands out.

Good.

“You want them to know? Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Yeah.” Louis murmurs, eyes on the bandana. He might be answering both questions, or maybe he’s distracted.

“Lou,” Harry huffs, squeezing his hip. The boy’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes only looking away from the bandana once he’s got his fingers touching it.

“I’m listening. I want them to. I want someone to post photos of you in it and once they realise it’s mine they’ll all know.”

“They’ll know we share a bandana. It’s not really a big thing.” Harry tilts his head in confusion, and Louis laughs like it’s a joke, before he reaches down and pats Harry’s thigh where his phone sits tucked in his pocket.

“Of course it’s a big thing. Check the internet once in a while, you oaf. Now kiss me so I can sprint down to the stage and hope I’m not late.”

Harry chuckles, tilting down to do just that, cupping his cheek sweetly. Louis indulges him for about three minutes, before he makes a frustrated noise and pulls away.

“Okay, see you after.”

“Break a leg!” Harry calls after him as he steps out of the storage room and takes off down the hallway.

Harry walks back to his seat and tries to ignore the pleased feeling he has wearing something of Louis’. It feels like a _collar_ almost. A loud colour, standing out, just screaming that it wasn’t planned for the outfit. He doesn’t get to plan it because Louis decided what he got.

He tries not to ponder for too long why the thought of tightening the bandana to make it more like an actual collar causes his stomach to swirl helplessly.

-

He doesn’t realise how much dying really affected Louis until that night.

“Did you wear it all day? For everyone to see?”

“Of course. I’d be surprised if the paps didn’t catch it on our way in.” Harry grins, settling down onto the bed and touching at the bandana.

“I didn’t catch a shower after the show. Stay there looking like that, I’ll be out in ten.” Louis gives him a heavy once-over then steps over to the toilet, locking himself in.

Harry lies back with a blissful sigh. They’re both tired, Louis definitely more so, but they’re also kind of in love even if only one of them knows it so far.

Loving Louis doesn’t feel like a huge deal. It feels like coming home. Like everything before him was just fickle moments leading up to meeting his eyes for the first time. He’s got some really fucking incredible eyes.

Harry’s been sitting there for six minutesthinking about those eyes when he realises the shower hasn’t turned on. He stands, stepping over to the door and listens. When he really wants to listen, he can hear anything he’d like.

Inside the toilet, he hears Louis’ breathing, just a hitch faster than neutral breathing. He’s alive, but he’s definitely not moving around or getting into the shower.

“Lou? You alright?” Harry knocks on the door and gets no reply. Worry spikes through him.

“Louis, please open the door. I don’t think the hotel would be very happy if I break it down.” He keeps his voice gentle, like he’s calming a horse or something. Why the fuck did he lock it?

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. Baby, please.”

There’s a bit of a shuffle, and then the door unlocks, slowly swings open. Louis’ white as a sheet, eyes glossy and hands shaking. Harry gets a hand on him immediately, feels that he’s terrified. Just plainly _terrified_. He pulls the boy into a hug, and Louis sags against him, exhaling shakily.

“The water is gonna be cold, even if I turn on the heat first.” Louis whispers into his neck, sounding small. Harry then realises what this is. He’s being reminded of when he died. That freezing water beating down onto him as he faded away.

“Do you want me to get it ready? I can join you, as well.”

“Please..to both. I’m sorry.” Louis sucks in a deep breath, still shaking. Harry pulls back, cradles his cheeks with his hands so their eyes meet.

“Don’t apologise. You went through a traumatic experience, of course you’re going to have stress from it. Just talk to me next time, yeah? Don’t lock yourself away and freeze up.” Harry presses a kiss to his forehead, smiling as he feels that indescribable warmth spread through the boy, trump his fear slowly. Love always wins.

He steps away to the shower, turns it onto hot and tests the water with his wrist until it fades from cold. It’s only a few seconds, but with the cool water on his skin he immediately remembers Louis’ blue lip and his blood seeping down the drain. He wasn’t even the one who died and it’s affecting him, he can’t imagine how much it would’ve fucked Louis up.

“It’s good now. C’mon, I’ll be here the whole time. Catch you if you even think about falling.” Harry takes Louis’ wrist, urging him closer gently. The boy comes willingly, trust filling him to the core. He could make a joke, call Harry’s muscles ‘unworthy’ of catching him. He probably would, too, if he wasn’t feeling like this.

The trust, though, it warms Harry’s heart. Drips through his veins all the way down to his toes. Louis trusts him with his life. Has, really. Multiple times now. It’s a bit intimidating, but mostly just lovely.

They strip slowly, and step in even slower. Harry keeps a hand on him the entire time, holding him steady even when he’s perfectly fine and planted on two feet. He watches the water cascade over him, and wants to take a photo to keep forever.

In a way, he can. With his magic, he can remember every moment of every day if he wants. He will be able to think about how pretty Louis looks right now for the rest of his life. Hopefully, he’ll see it enough to not have to pick it out of his memory.

“You’re incredible.” Harry sighs, touching his soap-covered hip. Louis gives him the softest of smiles.

“Because I’m afraid to shower alone like an idiot?”

“Because you’re terrible at accepting compliments.”

Louis huffs a laugh and steps in, closing the space between them and leaning forward until his forehead presses to Harry’s chest. Usually, Harry lowers himself for a hug, crouches in so the boy doesn’t have to go on his tiptoes. Now, he rather likes that Louis is only tall enough to reach his chest.

He wants to scoop him up and fuck him in the clouds sometimes. He could, too. Could fly if he wants to. Could take Louis anywhere he wants. Could show him so many things he’s never seen before.

Mark says he’s destined to find out, why not just tell him?

“Your heart’s beating really fast.” Louis murmurs, fingers drifting up his torso and touching at his collarbones. It’s almost like they’re dancing.

“Usually is around you. Have you met yourself?”

“Why’re you so sappy today? Trying to get in my pants?”

“Trying to get you to believe it, actually.”

Louis tenses in his arms.

Harry bites at his own tongue, closing his eyes. Okay, it’s not too bad. Just because he can feel the disbelief coursing though Louis every time he compliments him doesn’t mean the boy will know he has magic. Anyone could spot him not believing it. The slight twist of his mouth, the downcast of his eyes. Just because in this particular situation his face is hidden doesn’t mean he’s caught. It doesn’t mean he knows.

_It’s okay if he does_ , he remembers. It’s hard to remember that he doesn’t have to be afraid of him finding out. Hard to remember when he’s been told nothing but the opposite his entire life.

“What makes you think I don’t believe you?” Louis lifts his head to meet his eyes, and Harry’s heart skips. It’s always harder to lie when he does that. Maybe that’s why, then.

“Just an inkling.” He replies, just as the boy did the night they met, and Louis quirks an eyebrow.

“I’ve been told I’m quite confident, on multiple occasions. Never had anyone accuse me of not believing it.”

Of course he hasn’t, because it’s a feeling that runs deep in him, a small nagging of self-deprecation. Disbelief. Every time he’s complimented. Every time Harry attempts to tell him just how fucking amazing he is. Then again, it is quite deep. Something maybe only a therapist and Louis would know. Maybe not even a therapist. Something he wouldn’t care to share with anyone.

“Are you denying it?”

“I suppose there’s no point,” he narrows his eyes, reaching up to touch his chin, “you’re making me think you aren’t human again.”

Harry nearly blurts it out, then. _I’m not._ He nearly does. Just to get it over with. He’s never been able to be fully himself with someone. Has never been able to share his secret before.

Alas, he figures mid-shower maybe isn’t the most appropriate place for life-altering confessions.

“Liam’s two rooms over.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna make him really uncomfortable around us tomorrow?”

Louis grins, and the close call is forgotten.

-

The second time in his life Harry makes someone forget is the very next morning.

It’s something he doesn’t like to do. Has only used it once, when he was 16 and practicing teleporting. He’d gone back and forth in his backyard a few times before he noticed Gemma standing in the back doorway, mouth hung open.

He doesn’t like to make people forget. To plant a little bit of white noise in their memory that they won’t care to look into. He hates to manipulate someone like that, but sometimes it’s necessary. Especially for a secret as big as this one.

He’d woken up alone, with a text from Louis which held a screenshot of the day’s schedule. Lots of promo, lots of interview shit. Things Harry didn’t need to attend. Things he probably couldn’t attend without special passes.

He aches being away from him, so he uses the time to meditate. His meditation is a bit different from the average person. Involves a lot more levitating and a lot more blocking of his senses. He has most of the day alone, though, so nothing should interrupt him.

“M-Mr. Styles?”

Harry’s eyes snap open, his hearing and vision flicking back on immediately. George is standing in front of the bed, eyes wide and hands shaking where he’s holding a keycard.

Harry’s two feet above the bed, legs crossed mid-air and eyes probably fully white as his senses return.

Immediately, he lowers himself down, slides out of the bed and steps towards him. George instinctively steps back, stumbling a bit into the dresser holding the telly.

“Hey, you can keep my secret, yeah?” Harry asks, voice soothing. George nods feverishly.

“Yes, sir. Of course. I won’t tell, I swear—“

“I’m not going to hurt you, Georgie,” Harry murmurs, gets close enough to set a hand on his arm, “but I can’t let this one slide.”

Within seconds, George stops shaking. He blinks rapidly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and shakes his head at himself like he’s disoriented.

“Did you hear me?” Harry asks, twisting his face so it looks like he’s confused, himself.

“What?”

“I said what do you need?”

George blinks twice more, then his face lights up. Harry drops his arm, his magic no longer needed.

“Right! Sorry, must’ve dazed off. Daniel wanted me to fetch you. Our opening act’s lead singer fell sick last night, so he wants me to take you and your songs and introduce you to the band.”

“Surely you aren’t implying that I would replace the opening?” Harry’s palms sweat just thinking about it. The band is playing a fucking sold out stadium tonight. Thousands of people.

“Um..the boys of One Direction said you’re up for it, and we kind of don’t have anyone else to replace Jane.” He mentions the lead singer of the opening act. Admittedly, Harry hasn’t personally met her.

Harry sighs deeply, trying to mask his upset expression before George has an aneurysm.

“Give me a minute to change, then. Are we leaving the hotel?”

“No, sir! Just headed for the conference room.” The boy is far too chipper about this.

In the lift, Harry sends a group text to the band as a whole.

‘One of you call me ASAP’ he sends, hoping they ambiguity of it might get him a call, and they won’t realise what it’s about immediately.

‘ _Just give it a chance. Only one show. They’re gonna love you!_ ’ Liam replies within the minute.

‘I hate you all’ Harry sends back, only receiving heart emojis from all four of them. They’re _so_ busy they can’t call, but all able to text. Terrific.

-

“You have the music and everything and never thought to try and get signed?” Kate, the drummer of the opening act says, his journal flipped open to his newest song he’d written just last night. He was up for a few hours after he and Louis had gone to bed, and the rain outside didn’t slow for about as long.

He still hasn’t gotten control of that aspect yet. Fucking Louis Tomlinson makes it hard to remember copious amounts of rainfall in October probably isn’t normal.

“It’s just sort of something I do for me. A creative outlet, if you will. I don’t write them to be heard.”

“Well..we need three songs minimum for the opening set. Normally Jane does seven, but we can fill the rest of the time with just radio shit.” He really needs to meet everyone in this tour. He’s been rather distracted, to say the least.

“And you can’t just fill the whole opening with radio shit?”

“Harry,” she laughs, “these are really good. You have nothing to be nervous about. I believe the words the boys used to describe you were ‘sexy songs and a sexier voice’.”

“I dunno about that.” Harry shifts on his feet, biting his lip nervously. His magic can help in many aspects, but it can’t erase the ball of nerves he has right now.

Well, maybe it could if he really wanted it to, but he doesn’t want to fuck himself over.

“Well, you have all day to prepare, yeah? We’re going to need it, too. We gotta learn three new songs by tonight, so please pick them out.” Kate smiles sheepishly and slides his journal back to him. The bass and the guitarist sat next to her give him equally as supportive smiles.

With a shaky sigh, Harry flips through the pages.

-

They take a break for lunch. He’s thankful for it, especially when his magic is making his ‘missing Louis’ ache turn into an actual physical ache. It tugs at his soul to be apart. Leave the boy unprotected.

He sits at the bar in the hotel lobby and buys an order of chips, dipping them in ketchup and munching on them while he checks his phone. His mum’s texted asking him to bring her American sweets when they leave for the US leg of the tour. Niall’s sent him three paragraphs about why certain cat litters aren’t safe (they don’t even _own_ a cat). Lastly, there’s a text from Louis. It’s a selfie of Lou doing his hair. He looks sleepy and beautiful, tongue stuck out all silly.

‘Lou wants to know why my neck needed so much foundation.’ The accompanying text reads.

‘ _Tell her the sounds you make when you’re bit drive me crazy._ ’ He replies, sipping at his water.

‘Bout to go into an interview, stop making me flustered x’

’ _When you get back I’m gonna tie you up for making me sing for your thousands of fans xx_ ’

He doesn’t get a reply, but he gets a read receipt, and it only makes his smile grow, imagining Louis’ expression as he reads it. Imagining his cheeks pinking and his teeth sinking into his lip, probably messing up whatever chapstick he was given.

To distract himself, Harry opens up Twitter. Ever since the fans found out who he is, he’s had to turn off notifications for all of his socials. He’s gained thousands of followers on everything, just from appearing in some photos alongside Louis. He can’t imagine how they’d react if they knew what was really going on.

Except, it seems a few photos were all they need to speculate.

“What the fuck is Larry Stylinson?” He murmurs into his chips, and clicks on the hashtag, not at all prepared for the rabbit hole it will send him down.

He’s twenty minutes late getting back to the conference room.

-

After a damn long day of music, he’s released back to his room a few hours before soundcheck. He’s only an hour into his nap when the door snicks open.

He’s barely awake, still blinking sleep out of his eyes as he realises why his magic has woken him.

“Is it bad that I missed you after hardly a day apart?” Louis asks, setting down whatever shit he’s holding and shucking off his jeans, climbing onto the bed and right onto Harry, straddling his lap.

“Was just about to ask the same thing.” Harry murmurs, voice groggy with sleep. He runs his hands up Louis’ bare thighs, magic desperate to touch him, guiding his hands even as he’s hardly awake.

“You wanna keep napping?” Louis asks, his own hands drifting down Harry’s chest, toying with the waistband of his pants.

“I believe I made a promise earlier. By the way, when were you going to tell me about the shipping shit?” Harry pulls at Louis’ briefs until the boy lifts up, letting himself be exposed.

“Not my fault you don’t check your phone. Dont think anyone will be surprised if we came out.” He grinds down on him a bit, cheeks already pinking. Harry wraps a hand around his cock, dragging a hand over him.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about this all day. You want a tie or a belt?”

“A.. _ah_ , belt.” Louis’ dripping a bit just in anticipation. He seemed to have been thinking about it too.

“On your stomach.” Harry sits up, kisses him a bit, then stands up. His belt is tucked deep in his trunk, and he pulls it out, touching at the leather. The tie would’ve been a lot softer on his wrists, probably wouldn’t leave marks. Maybe that’s why he didn’t choose it.

He turns back around and has to reach down and adjust himself at the sight. Louis’ on his stomach as asked, hands folded underneath himself. His cheek is against the sheets, eyes closed. His hips are moving really slowly, desperate for friction.

“Our sex tape would break ten million views without a doubt.” Harry sighs, settles onto the bed next to him. Louis giggles, tucking a pillow under his cheek. It arches his back just a bit, the dimples at the bottom of his spine defined. God. He’s so pretty it hurts.

“That’s how you wanna come out? With a sex tape?”

“Nah, you’re just really pretty so you’d bring in all the views. Wrists.”

Louis unfolds his arms from under him, lifts them up above his head. Harry wraps the belt around them. The headboard in this hotel is flat and cushioned, so there’s no slats to attach the belt to.

“Keep them up, yeah?”

Louis nods, turning his face to the pillow so his face is hidden. Harry settles a hand on the small of his back, feeling the embarrassment he’s experiencing. Embarrassed about how much he likes this. Being tied up and told what to do.

“Lift your hips.” Harry taps at said hip, and slides a pillow underneath him when he complies. This way, he’s on display, arse in the air. He feels really smooth, too. Skin soft to the touch.

“Did you shower?”

“Yeah. We did a promo photo shoot last thing. They gave us lots of hairspray and makeup so we showered before coming back here.” He showered alone. Harry’s so proud he can’t help but smile stupidly.

“Perfect. You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He leans over him, pressing kisses down his spine. Louis shivers, that small disbelief creeping up as soon as he’s complimented.

“Feel what you do to me, baby?” Harry continues, desperate to make him believe it. He presses his hips down, his brief-covered hard on touching against Louis’ thigh. The boy turns his face to the side, shivering a bit.

“Wan’ it.” He murmurs, lifting his hips enticingly. Harry smiles, reaching up to comb his hair back from his face.

“Wanna give you something else first, yeah? You trust me?”

“Yeah, with m’ life.” Louis says, restrained hands grasping the pillow with want.

“Good. Don’t come.”

Louis wriggles a bit with this order. He was already leaking before they even started, and he will most likely come in the next few minutes. Harry almost wants him to. Wants to see how far he could take a punishment. Wonders just how much Louis wants but won’t ask for.

Wonders how much he can ‘guess’ his kinks before Louis gets suspicious.

He lowers down the boy, leading kisses down the whole way, then settles between his legs, places both hands on his arse cheeks and spreads them. His mouth waters.

“You just staring?” Louis huffs, foot lifting to kick him gently. Harry doesn’t need to look up to know he’s blushing. He does anyway. Pink looks really good on him.

Louis is probably expecting fingers, which is why his surprised gasp is so loud at the first touch of Harry’s tongue.

“Oh my god—“ he cuts off into a breathy moan when Harry doesn’t waste any time, licking into him like he’ll never rim someone again.

He can feel a bit of blurriness as Louis does. That fuzzy feeling of helpless arousal. He wants to ask if anyone’s done this to him before, but more than that he doesn’t want to pull away.

“Harry, I’m n-not gonna last long, fuck.” He presses back into Harry’s face, thighs shaking a bit as he tries to prolong his orgasm. He won’t be able to, Harry knows. Especially with the way he presses his tongue in deep, hands holding his hips down so his cock is trapped against the pillow underneath him, friction tight but still there.

“I can’t, Haz please—“ he moans, back arching as he comes onto the pillow below, hands tight and pulling against the belt. He’s going to have bruises, probably.

Harry lifts away, jaw aching deliciously. He holds up two fingers, and they’re soaked with lube in a mere second, the lube itself still sat in a bottle in the bedside drawer. He touches his wet fingers to Louis’ hole, worn and hot.

The boy pulls away, hissing with the sensitivity, barely having had time to feel the aftershocks of the orgasm he’s just had.

“Stay still. Told you not to come, didn’t I?”

“Harry,” Louis whines, shaking a bit, hips shifting to pull away as a finger slips inside him.

“I’m going to fuck you until you come again. Is that okay, baby?” He doesn’t need to verbally ask, can feel just how much Louis is okay with this, but he wants him to say it.

A darker part of him wants him to _beg_ for it.

“Yeah, s’ okay.” Louis murmurs, voice small, ears red with embarrassment.

So he presses two fingers into him, watches the way Louis’ muscles jump as he’s overstimulated. He’s loose from Harry’s tongue but it’s still a stretch as he curls his fingers deep and drags the pads of them against his prostate.

“Feel good, Lou? You want a third?”

“Yeah,” Louis hums, pressing back into his fingers as if he’s desperate for it and didn’t just come his brains out. He tucks in a third, cock twitching as he looks down at it, at his fingers disappearing inside of him. He’s so fucking pretty.

“Good?” He asks, scissoring him a bit, throat dry at the sight.

“I’m ready. C’mon.” Louis shifts his arms so he can breathe easier, eyes fluttering a bit with the pleasure.

“Ready for what?” Harry asks. He knows what Louis wants. He also knows how nice it would sound to hear him beg, accent thicker with arousal, arse clenching with the sheer need of it, desperate to be fucked even after he’s just come. Bloody hell, Harry might be really fucking in love with him.

“M’ ready for you. Want it, please. P-please, Harry.” He sucks in a breath, hands twitching like he might just move them. Like he might just twist them and mess up his restraints.

Harry removes his fingers, circles them around Louis’ wrist, holds him down tightly for three hot seconds as he touches his lips to the boy’s ear.

“Stay.” He says, voice lowering a few chunks of octaves without meaning to. Louis seems to be holding his breath, stilling completely under him, pliant under his hold, face turning lower into the pillow, baring the back of his neck.

_Submitting_.

“So good for me, baby. Such a good boy. Have you let anyone else do this?”

_Do what?_ , Louis body asks, but the boy himself doesn’t speak, just whimpering as Harry nudges the head of his cock against his hole.

“Break you down a little. Have their way with you. Have you let anyone else see you like this?” Harry doesn’t realise he’s answered an unspoken question until a few seconds later, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice either.

“Jus’ you. Only you.” The boy promises, voice a bit of a slur.

“So lovely, Lou. I’m going to take care of you, okay? Do you trust me?” He asks again, knows the answer, but knows sometimes Louis may need to remind himself of the fact.

“Yes. Please.”

Harry reaches up, unbuckles the belt and unwinds it from his wrist. Louis, the good boy, keeps his hands in place anyway, breath stuttering a bit.

“Roll over, love. Gonna be nice now, yeah? Wanna see you fall apart this time.” He helps him along anyway, hand on his hip as the boy flips over, arms still above his head like he can’t even think of going against his previous orders.

Harry fits himself between his legs, reaching up to wipe away the surprising tears on Louis’ cheeks. The boy’s eyes are barely open, his feelings centre blurry in a slightly terrifying way he’s never seen before. Nothing but want. Obedience. Trust.

Love.

He presses into him slowly, watching the way the boy’s chin lifts, thighs tightening around him beautifully. He’s so beautiful it’s almost ethereal in a way. Like he’s an actual angel. The pretty angelic unbelievable kind, not the nightmarish kinds Ezekiel drew up.

“I love you like this,” Harry chokes out as he bottoms out, forgetting he’s not meant to admit that yet, “I love how you’re letting go for me. Love it when you don’t, either.”

“Harry,” Louis whines, hands parting and fingers twitching, but he doesn’t ask for it. He doesn’t need to.

Harry reaches up and tangles one of their hands together, pressing it down into the bed as he starts to genuinely fuck him. Louis’ fully hard again, probably never actually went soft, his mouth slacking as he’s given exactly what he needs, at exactly the right angle to make him shake.

“Love all the ways you are with me. Want this for the rest of my f-fucking life.”

_Me too_ , Louis’ body screams back, but verbally the boy just moans, hand tight in his, the other still up above his head, clutched in the pillow.

He wants it too.

Lightning flashes across the sky outside, but neither of them notice, too caught up in this. Harry’s so caught up in it he misses the things he usually does, the waving of the curtains, the shaking of the mattress below them, the tingling in his toes. Doesn’t notice until Louis makes a sound louder than the rest he’s been making, free hand scrambling for a hold on anything but only finding sheets, back arching as he comes a second time, skin glowing golden.

Skin _actually_ glowing golden. Shimmering over his soft skin like he’s been touched by Midas himself.

Harry gasps, leaning down to touch his lips to the boy’s skin because what the fuck else does he do in this situation? The gold shimmers under his lips, spreads warmth throughout Harry’s entire body.

When he comes, he almost can’t breathe it’s so good. Louis’ body glows, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His eyes fill, spill over before he can stop them, watching Louis shake. As he comes down, the gold seeps into his skin as if it’s always been there, and he keens as he pulls out, come dripping out, following. Harry can hear him.

Like, he can _hear_ him.

It’s mostly a string of _I love you_ and _yes_ , but it’s too far. It’s his thoughts. Harry doesn’t want to hear his thoughts like this. Doesn’t want to invade his privacy like that. It’s deeper than usual. Deeper than he can go when he usually reads someone’s thoughts.

Suddenly, he sees something. A flash, just a second of a premonition, but it’s enough. So much more than enough.

Louis, maybe in his 40s, grey hair tickling at his temples, the laugh lines permanently embedded at the corner of his eyes. He’s smiling brightly, sat in a rocking chair with a child, a small thing with a head of brunette curls, reading a story.

It’s the future. Not today, but further than Harry allows himself to see.

Usually, his premonitions are something from that same day, but this is so much more. More than he ever thought he _could_ see.

“Harry, what is it?”

He blinks and looks around them. Everything is still. Rain patters at the window and Louis isn’t glowing anymore. He’s still fuzzy, but he’s frowning, touching at the tears running down Harry’s cheeks. He looks frightened, and feels frightened as well, like he thinks he’s done something wrong.

“I’m just a bit overwhelmed. You take my breath away.” Harry says, rolling off of him and settling at his side, taking his wrists and pressing soft kisses to the marks quickly forming there. He’ll have to wear a jumper for the next few days, undoubtedly.

“Good?” Louis asks, blinking slowly. Harry can’t hear his thoughts anymore unless he wants to, thankfully. He’s never had an experience like that one. More importantly, he’s never done something like that with someone. Even so, he knows what the boy is asking.

“Yes. You were so good. So amazing for me. Let’s have a nap, yeah?”

Louis nods, tucks himself small against Harry’s chest. The trust is swirling through him again, strong and pure while he’s like this. Down, or whatever it is. They definitely need to talk about this, but there’s a solid few hours before they need to leave for sound check, and Louis isn’t quite in his regular headspace.

A nap will do them both good.

Ten minutes after they fall asleep, Harry’s stood in a familiar forest. He rounds the trees quickly, finding Mark in their usual spot near the meadow.

“Harry, I don’t have much time. I need you to just listen and give me quick answers, okay?” Mark’s not in pyjamas, meaning he’s probably not asleep in reality right now. He’s called this meeting in a pinch. Like an emergency. Immediately, Harry’s heart skips a bit, worry filling him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Not terribly so. It’s just..it changed. The future. In the last twenty or so minutes. What did you do?”

“I..w-we had sex. It wasn’t the first time—“

“But it was different?”

“I mean, yeah. We’re taking a nap right now, but we’re going to talk about it. He got, like, into this weird headspace where he was fuzzy and really obedient—“

“You have to refrain from Dom’ing him, Harry.” Mark interrupts again, mouth in a thin line.

“Why?” Harry replies, trying to ignore the embarrassment that immediately settles in his gut. He definitely doesn’t want to know how Mark knows that’s what they were doing.

“It’s a bit hard to explain, so I’ll give the short version. His mortal body knows you aren’t exactly human. As much as the boy loves you, his body will still have a wall or two up. Insecurities he may never admit on his own. Things he might not say for an extended period of time. It’s a regular thing for everyone, but his soul and his body are at odds. His soul wants to give it all, and his body is on a bit of a defensive mode. It knows you can be dangerous. Like a sort of fight or flight mode.”

“Okay,” Harry blinks, sort of getting it.

“When you Dom him as you did tonight, his body gives way to how he feels inside. He trusts you to make the decisions and make the right ones. Basically his body relaxes. His walls fall down and he’s completely at your mercy. This gives your magic complete access to him. And I mean completely him. Everything he is and was and ever will be.”

“He—he glowed gold and then I could hear his thoughts and then I saw his future.” Harry chews at his lip, nerves twisting through his belly.

“That’s..probably the best outcome compared to what could have happened. The future you saw isn’t what it was an hour ago, I assure you.”

“Could I hurt him?”

“No, your magic would never allow it, but it changes things. You may hear or see things you never wanted to. Whatever you did tonight changed him. His future altered so fast. He must’ve realised—“

“He realised he loves me.” Harry sighs, settling down heavily into a fallen stump. Mark frowns in sympathy, stepping closer.

“Yeah, that wasn’t due to happen for another two weeks. If you do it again, it’s only a matter of time before he realises what you’re hiding. It just fine, because he’s meant to find out, but when he loses control like that, in a sense you do as well. You forget your boundaries. I’m not just talking power outages. I’m talking about jumping.”

“Like.. _jumping_ jumping?” Harry says, eyes wide. His heart is fucking slamming in his chest.

“Yes, through time, and it would drag him along. Alternatively, halting time, throwing off his natural ageing by seconds could affect his future by years. I’m not sure what the golden skin thing is because I admittedly haven’t spoken to many soulmates, but it’s unknown, potentially dangerous. You don’t have complete control over your magic, and it’s already gone too far with altering the natural order.”

“It has? What—“

“I’m out of time. Just..trust me and don’t let him fall that deeply again, yeah? And Harry, the next time you travel, try not to freak out.”

“What does that even mean?!” Harry shouts, but Mark is gone in the blink of an eye.

Harry can only pout as he’s sucked back into his unconscious body.

-

They must’ve only napped for an hour or so, because the sun is still up when he wakes.

Immediately, he sits up onto his elbows, and spots Louis at the window, a hotel-provided miniature vodka bottle in his hand, eyebrows furrowed like he’s torn, Harry’s knit sweater hanging loosely on him. The window is open just a crack, enough space for him to flick the ash from a fag outside. He seems conflicted. Stressed, maybe.

“I’ve never seen you smoke.” Harry says, voice groggy from sleep. Louis looks to him, and his gulp is visible even with the bit of distance.

“Haven’t had the urge in the last few days. Since I met you, weirdly enough.” Louis says, stabbing the cigarette out and closing the window. He finishes off the small travel vodka and settles onto the bed, crossing his legs and looking far too cute.

“You are now? And the alcohol?”

“Hoping to have the courage for the talk I’m sure you’re going to wanna have.” Louis admits, picking at the sheet between them. Harry aches to touch him, see exactly how he’s feeling, and sort of hates that that’s his default. He can _see_ the nervousness in the boy. There’s no need to touch him.

“I..don’t know if we should do what we did again. I’m, like, terrifyingly uneducated in the whole thing and you went down so fast I thought you’d never come back up.”

“So we read up on it, then? Don’t do it again until we know exactly what’s happening?” Louis looks so fucking hopeful and it’s just.

Fuck. Harry _wants_ to do it again. Doesn’t think he’s ever felt so on top of the world as he did when he watched Louis glow like he did. Felt the trust and the love from him in a way that words could never express. Only a direct line to his soul could. It’s unexplainable. It’s euphoria at its basic definition. Elation.

“So you want to do it again? You liked it?”

Louis blinks at him like he’s startled, then he laughs, short and loud like he’s said a joke.

“Are you serious? Fuckin’ hell, H. I’ve never felt like that in my whole life. Didn’t even know I wanted it. It’s like you reached into the darkest part of my head and pulled out something I never even admitted wanting to myself. You—“ he cuts himself off, huffing as he loses his words. Then he scoots in closer, leans in over him and kisses him softly, hand cupping his cheek. It’s really damn nice.

“It was a surprise for me too, you know. I didn’t realise exactly what was happening until you were already down.”

“Well, it came rather easily. I’ve never experienced it before, but I wasn’t afraid. I trusted—I trust you in a way I never have before, and I still don’t even fully know you.” Louis smiles, kissing him once more, and when he pulls back his pretty blue eyes flicker over to the bedside table.

“We should probably get dressed. We both have a big show tonight.”

And then Harry’s heart stops a bit. His smile falls immediately as he remembers. Right, he’s filling in for Jane tonight. Three of his deeply personal songs are to be sung by him on a stage in front of thousands. Thousands who will be recording on their phones and will probably upload it for some shitty fail compilation on YouTube. And then he’ll have to fake his death and move to a remote country under an alias. He’ll have to dye his hair so he won’t be recognised.

Oh god, he can’t pull off _blond_.

“Right. Dressed.” Harry says dazedly, climbing out of the bed when Louis tugs at him to.

He might be freaking out.

-

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” Louis asks, holding his hand as Lou does his hair. Because apparently even last minute fillers get the full popstar treatment.

“Cool as a cucumber.” Harry says, voice undeniably shaky. Louis smiles, running his thumb over Harry’s knuckles, touching at the few rings littering there. He’s started getting into rings lately, enjoying the feeling of them.

“Well I got you something. A luck charm of sorts.” Louis flushes a bit as he brandishes a small jewellery store bag out of thin air. Harry takes the bag, blinking in surprise.

“What? Lou—“

“Just open it and stop blabbering.” Louis rolls his eyes fondly, kneeling down in front of him, setting his arms over his knees. Harry smiles sheepishly and opens up the package, pulling out a large velvet box. He eases it open, and his heart skips.

“I have to say, it’s not really my thing, religion or whatever. But..you were wearing one the night we met, and somewhere between then and now you stopped wearing one.”

“It broke when I was packing for the tour. It was a cheap little one, so I wasn’t too surprised.” Harry touches the silver cross with his thumb, picks it up to hold in his hand. It’s heavy and simple and so perfect.

“This one won’t break unless you’re trying to. Nice and strong. Just—do you like it? I didn’t wanna assume anything or, like,”

“It’s perfect. It’s so perfect. I didn’t realise you’d even noticed mine was gone, I..” Harry sucks in a shaky breath and reaches for Louis’ arm, tugging the boy into his lap for a hug. Lou makes a frustrated noise as she has to stop doing his hair, but neither of them pay any mind.

Louis then just settles into his lap like a cute imp, taking the necklace from him and clasping it around his neck. It’s cold and sits heavy between his collarbones. It truly is perfect.

He almost says it, then. _I love you_. He almost does, especially when he sets a hand on the boy’s arm and feels that same love radiating back at him. Fond. Joy.

But, in a dressing room in front of a ton of crew probably isn’t the best place to confess his love, so he holds it back. That five more minutes spent with Louis on his lap really anchors him. Slowly, the ball of nerves in his stomach fades. Not fully, of course, but with a lap of his favourite boy, it’s hard to remember why he was opposing this so hard.

Then it’s places. Alberto leads him through the hallways to backstage, where he can hear the hum of the crowd and can feel his own hand shaking in Louis’. He’s hooked up to a headset so he can hear the music and he’s handed a microphone. It’s an extra one, but they’ve wrapped a bit of green duct tape around the base so they know it’s for him. It’s sweet, that they did that. Echoing the way the boys’ mics all have their own colours.

For a few minutes, he closes his eyes and bows his head, breathing slowly. Louis doesn’t say a word, just holds his hand steadily. Still anchoring. He’s drifting his fingers slowly over Harry’s wrist, and suddenly he has an urge to get a tattoo. Just randomly out of nowhere, two minutes before he’s on to perform his own songs to thousands of people. Songs he’s written out of his own personal feelings.

“Okay. I can do this.” He says, a burst of adrenaline coursing through him. Maybe it’s not just him, because Louis’ smiling widely and there’s nothing but hope and support in his centre.

“You can _so_ do this. I’m going to be right here the whole time, okay? You see that screen,” he points in front of them, where a collection of screens sit, each with a different number on them, “I’ll be watching the camera videos. When you finish, just come right back here.”

“Time, Harry!” Alberto says, and there must be lights dimming in the stadium or something, because the audience quiets down a bit in anticipation. Then there’s a voice coming over the speakers.

“Good evening Manchester!” It sounds like Kate.

Harry turns and gives Louis a kiss, short and sweet and obvious to anyone running around backstage, but they don’t care. Louis doesn’t stop smiling the whole time, and then he’s being led away from him, up some stairs to the stage itself.

“As you all know, Jane fell sick with a bit of a stomach bug last night, so we’ve had to move some things around. We’re going to introduce someone new tonight. Someone who’s never performed in front of a crowd before. You’ve probably seen him in photos recently. He’s come on as a writer for One Direction’s new album,” at Kate’s words, the audience erupts into screams of excitement, “please give a warm welcome to Harry Styles!”

Harry shuts his eyes and lifts the cross from his chest, presses a kiss to it, and then he’s off, walking out from backstage and into the bright bright lights. There’s so many people it’s dastardly overwhelming. He can’t even see where the crowd ends, and the screaming is deafening, would probably actually deafen him if he weren’t wearing the plugs.

He settles at his spot mid-stage, clicking his microphone into place. There’s a few seconds where he just blinks out into the audience, seeing so many faces they almost blur together. They’re all focused on him, and the energy in the room is thrumming. His magic thrums right back, excited.

“Hello, everyone,” Harry says into the mic, and they all scream in reply, “I’m sorry Jane couldn’t make it, I can only hope to fill her shoes and give you a good show. This first song is called Happily.”

The music starts, and Harry’s hands are shaking. He looks over the crowd, and then a huge camera near the front catches his eye. There’s just something about it. Something about knowing Louis sits on the other side, watching him through what the lens records.

He smiles, and starts to sing.

He gets through Happily without any hiccups, staying centre stage and just singing the song. Then, halfway through Adore You, he starts to move a bit, swaying and dancing at his mic, feeding off the reaction of the crowd.

Then, Medicine.

The song has always felt different. Not just because Louis inspired the song, because the boy also inspired the other two, It’s just a different genre, almost. It’s rock and it’s hot, to put it lightly. Its about sex and when he thinks of sex he immediately thinks of last night. Louis glowing gold underneath him.

The music starts, and the crowd makes noise, seeming to sense the change in pace. Harry closes his eyes. It’ll sound different than when he sung it for the boys the other day. This version, it’s the full version. With drums and bass and lights.

Somewhere before the chorus, he opens his eyes, grins, and gets a burst of something. Something more than adrenaline. He doesn’t forget where he is, per say. He sort of ascends in a way he never thought he could.

He runs his hands down his front as he sings, and the crowd erupts into screams. The support and enjoyment they’re all feeling hits him like a wave, and then before he realises what he’s doing, he’s _performing_. In a way he never expected from himself.

He takes his mic from the stand and skips to stage left, dancing and sticking his tongue out suggestively at people recording in the front row. They throw things to him, flowers and bracelets and even bras, and he takes it all in stride, picking up a pretty red rose and tucking it behind his ear.

Then a pride flag is thrown, lands in the scaffolding where he’d have to go out of his way to pick it up.

He does, singing the second verse as he reaches for it. Then, when the second chorus starts, he belts it out and throws the flag over his shoulder, lets it fly high behind him as he skips back to centre stage.

The screams are so loud he can barely hear the music through his plug-ins.

He sets his mic back into place, holds the flag over it so it hangs prettily over it, and sings the last chorus, throwing his head back and pressing up against the mic stand like he’s been doing this for years or something. The crowd is jumping, going absolutely mad.

Then the songs over, but they’re still screaming. Harry grins and throws the flag to the crowd, stepping back to take a bow. They don’t stop screaming as he says ‘thank you’ into the mic. They don’t stop as he turns to each section and blows a kiss. They don’t stop even as he walks off stage and disappears. They keep screaming even as he walks back and immediately searches out Louis.

The boy isn’t quite waiting at the cameras, he’s in the small walkway between there and the stage, and he’s just a blur of black t-shirt before there’s arms around his neck and Louis laughing in his ear. Harry catches him by his thighs, stumbling a bit into the wall. They’re in the way, people having to step around them as they prepare the stage for the boys, but Harry tucks a hand into the boy’s shirt and settles on the small of his back.

The absolute pride Louis is feeling seeps right into him, making him feel impossibly more on top of the world.

“You were so good, darling, so incredible. I can’t believe—you’re such a natural. You need to be doing this, not writing for us—“ Louis is blabbering loudly, his koala hold so tight Harry almost can’t breathe, and it’s perfect.

“I don’t know about that, Louis. You’re the popstar here. I was so nervous.”

“You couldn’t even tell. You didn’t look nervous at all. You looks more confidence than I’ve ever seen you. And that last song—fucking,” Louis makes a noise and pulls back just enough to press their lips together. Harry lowers him back onto his feet, only to turn and crowd him against the wall of the hallway. Life continues going on around them, but the screams fade away. The footsteps fade. Everything else fades.

Sometimes it’s like Louis is the sun and Harry revolves around him, can only continue on because of that.

“God, you have a show soon.” Harry murmurs into his mouth, pulling them together with a hand on his waist. Someone passing by tells them to get a room, and they both hold up middle fingers without looking to see who said it. It sounded a bit like Paul. Then they’re laughing, and Harry’s sweaty from the show and needs to shower before making his way up to the box seats to watch as he always does. None of it even matters. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else, doesn’t care what happens as long as they’re together.

Would fill in for the rest of the tour if it meant Louis would react like this every time.

“I’m taking you out after the show and then I’m going to ride you ten ways from Sunday tonight.” Louis says, audible to anyone close enough, then he ducks under Harry’s arm and takes off running in the general direction of the green room.

Harry laughs breathlessly and touches his hot forehead to the cool wall for a moment, catching his breath from that kiss. His toes are tingling again, from the overwhelming feeling of everything, so he takes a minute to sit there and just feel it all. A cool breeze shifts through his hair, despite this being a closed top stadium without a way for a breeze to enter. His magic thrums through the floor, vibrating through his entire being.

When he feels a little more in control of himself, he touches his fingers to the pretty cross once more with a smile, then he sprints off after his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope nobody notices the unfairly copious amounts of 1d and L&H song references throughout the fic hahaha...
> 
> On a more serious note, I’ve been feeling shitty lately so writing this really helped keep my mind preoccupied. I have this site and this ship I love writing to get lost in and forget, but I know many others aren’t so lucky to find something that can do that for them. If anyone needs to rant, talk about Larry, ask about fics, or just simply need a friend, my insta dms are always always OPEN: ohpleaselarry 💚


	3. the aurora

“When you said you were taking me out I was expecting dinner or summat.” Harry says, raising an eyebrow at the aisles upon aisles of suits, the bright pretty chandeliers above them and the loads of mirrors on the walls.

“Don’t worry, I plan to feed you. For now, I wanted to be the one to tell you Jane’s stomach bug turned out to be the flu. She won’t be able to perform for a week.”

Harry spins to look at him, eyes wide.

“You mean—“

“I mean, you’ll have to fill in for at least five more shows. Your cute jeans and button down were nice today, but I thought you might like a show outfit. Something nice to wear for your performance.”

Harry’s a bit speechless. He can only blink in surprise as Louis leads him through the aisles and into the back of the shop, through a door that reads ‘employees only’.

“Ah, Louis! I was hoping we’d see your face around here again!” An older woman grins happily and reaches in to hug him.

“Hello, Audie. I’ve been meaning to come back for a while! I actually came today hoping you could help us with something a little different.” Louis pulls out of the hug with an easy smile, and then Audie seems to notice Harry, standing awkwardly off behind them, lip in his teeth.

“And who’s this?”

“This is my boyfriend, Harry.” Louis says, and Harry has a moment of panic, because they aren’t meant to be public. Because they have to hide and have a fake girlfriend and pretend to be straight.

But Louis is just smiling, eyes crinkling. He must trust this woman, then. It sends warmth through him, to hear Louis introduce him as his _boyfriend_. It’s what he is, of course, but it’s not like he hears him say it or anything. Especially not in such a proud and happy way.

Audie claps excitedly and reaches in, pulling Harry into a hug as well.

“Oh, so lovely to meet you!” She says, her hug warm and when Harry hugs her back he feels her kind spirit. Her pride, aimed to Louis. She’s been hoping he would bring someone special around for a while. Harry’s at ease at once, and his heart aches as he’s reminded of his nan, suddenly.

“Lovely to meet you as well.” He says as they pull out of the hug. Louis steps up to them, smile yet to leave his face.

“Okay, so we need a performance outfit. Harry’s style is a bit more..quirky than mine or the boy’s. He might end up wanting something a little more out there. I trust you to give him what he’d like. We both remember that suit you made for Elton.” Louis and Audie laugh, and Harry blinks in surprise.

“E-Elton..” he repeats, heart in his throat.

“Yes, H, Elton John. Keep up. So anyway, there’s no price limit and we have an hour or two to spare before dinner, so feel free to give him the full treatment.” Louis continues on, setting a hand on Harry’s arm and handing him off to Audie like he’s a father at a wedding.

“I can’t wait! C’mon love, let’s head over to the suits and you can tell me what you like and don’t like.” Audie brings him away, and Harry looks back to see Louis settling into a large cushioned chair with a smirk, watching him leave.

“Okay.” Harry says as he’s led away, and it takes ten minutes for his heart to settle. He’s having a suit fitted by a woman who made one for Elton John.

Elton fucking John, what the fuck.

When they make their way back to Louis, it’s with a rolling rack of contenders. Harry decided he’d definitely rather like to wear just a button down under the suit jacket, not really one for a full suit and tie look.

The rack is a variety of colours, fabrics, and looks. Audie’s been hiding the prices, though. Not telling him even when he asks, just waving him off with a laugh.

“That was quick.” Louis says, despite them having been gone for almost 45 minutes. The boy sits up in his chair, stretching a bit and locking his phone. There’s a step up little stage area in front of a changing room. Probably meant for grooms trying on suits for his wedding. The thought makes his heart stutter.

“He’s lovely to work with, not afraid to say he doesn’t like something. I think I know what we’re going for.” Audie says, and moves to stand in front of the rack, tapping her chin.

“Let’s try this one on first.” She pulls out the lovely black and white set, handing it to him. Harry smiles and skips over to the changing room, a bit excited. He’s never done this before. Most of his suits are a little too big or too small. He’s never had a real fitting, mostly because it’s usually expensive. He feels almost like a sugar baby, and the thought makes him chuckle to himself, bouncing on one leg as he pulls the pants on. The suit is nice, black and white striped coat over a simple black button down. Tucked into black pants that fan out at the bottom. With some heeled boots, he might actually be reminded of Elton John, funny enough.

He steps out of the curtain, and does a mock runway walk in his socks, then steps up to the middle of the small stage and sets a hand on his hip. Audie laughs, clapping gleefully, and Louis whistles, giving him a once over.

Both of them step up to the stage. Audie fiddles with the sleeves of the coat, rolling them up and fastening the cuff links, spotting ways to make it fashionable in the way that just goes right over Harry’s head. Louis touches the fabric, looking thoughtful.

“It’s really nice, that’s for sure. Do you like it?” Louis looks up to him, clearly wanting to give his own opinion but wanting to hear Harry’s first.

“It’s really nice.” Harry echoes, smiling at Louis’ returning eye-roll. The boy steps over to the rack, skimming through it and pausing at something. He takes it out, and Harry takes a nervous breath.

It’s the loudest thing of the bunch, that’s for sure. A pretty pink, almost mauve, and sparkly in the lights. Pants in the same style he has on now, bell bottomed, and a matching coat. It’s, well, it’s almost camp, is what it is.

Definitely not the most masculine thing of all time, but Harry’s never really cared about that sort of thing. Hell, his nails are painted more often than not.

“This is a great colour for you. I think what you’re wearing now is missing, like..”

“Personality?” Audie offers, and Louis snaps his finger with a nod. He steps over and holds the hanger up to him.

“That! It doesn’t feel like it’s _you_ , you know?”

“Okay. I really do like this colour,” Harry takes the hanger, touching at the sparkly pink fabric, “it wouldn’t be embarrassing?”

“You could pull off anything, love. I think it’d be hot, actually.” Louis shrugs, stepping back over to his chair and sitting down.

“Do I wear this same button down?” Harry asks, touching at the black silk he’s wearing under the coat jacket now. Audie hums thoughtfully, then makes a noise and bustles away, returning within a minute with a different button down, only..

“This is, like, really sheer.” Harry says, sticking a hand into the shirt, seeing his entire hand through the fabric.

“Give it a shot.” Audie says with a grin, and Harry huffs a laugh and does as he’s told, stepping back into the dressing room and changing.

The fabric is sparkly, but not itchy, thankfully. It’s rather comfortable, actually. The pants fit perfectly around his hips, and the legs are too long so they can be hemmed just right. There’s no mirror in the dressing room, but the outside room is surrounded by them. He looks down at himself anyway, sucking in a nervous breath at the sheer of the button down, showing his entire torso through it, the shine of his cross visible even without light hitting it.

He steps out before he can puss out, and walks shyly to the front of the stage again, fingers fumbling at his sides.

Audie is babbling about how it looks amazing and incredible, stepping up to tuck the button down into the pants, then unbuttoning the top three buttons on it, just enough that his cross lands just at the point of the ‘V’ it leaves.

Harry works up the nerve to look to Louis, and the boy’s stood up from his chair, face carefully blank as his eyes rake over him. Is he even breathing?

Neither of them say a word as Louis steps up closer, reaching out and touching at the waistband of the pants, thumb tapping at the sheer of the shirt. Closer up, he can see the dilation of his pretty eyes and the slack of his jaw.

Harry swallows thickly and looks up past him, to his own reflection in the wall of mirrors. He looks, well, he looks fucking _fantastic_. The suit fits really well, not just in size. It fits him. It’s loud and a bit sparkly but only three pieces, still simple in a way. Harry’s never thought of himself as a fashionable person, but he can appreciate a great outfit when he sees one.

This is a really great outfit.

“Is this the one?” Audie asks, and Harry reaches down, touching Louis’ hand on his hip, throat drying at the arousal he feels racing through him.

“Yeah.” Both boys say simultaneously, and that’s that.

-

Leaving the suit to Audie so she can hem the pants and make minute adjustments as needed, they take a cabbie to a busy downtown street, and Louis grins, pulling out beanies and sunnies for them both.

“You think this’ll work?” Harry laughs, taking the items and tucking the disguise on anyway. Louis shrugs, smiling mischievously.

“Probably won’t. Let’s do it anyway. C’mon, lets pick a spot to eat.”

They step out of the cab and Louis tucks a hand into his inner elbow like he’s being courted, and Harry plays along, folding his arm and falling into step next to him, eyeing every person they pass, wondering how long they can go before someone recognises Louis’ voice or his laugh. He’s very memorable, after all.

Harry could probably pick his whisper out in a crowd of shouts, and it’s not just because they’re soulmates and in love. Louis is just that kind of person. He leaves an impression. He speaks for the band more often than not, in interviews and wherever. He’s loud and brash and god Harry loves him so much it’s overwhelming.

He’s so dazed out thinking about it that when Louis comes to a halt he doesn’t realise until he’s yanked back.

“What is it?” Harry asks as Louis tugs him through the traffic of pedestrians and up to a shop window. It’s a shoe store, a variety of boots and trainers and heels displayed in the window.

“We should get you shoes for the outfit, yeah? Audie says she’s hemming them to fit with a bit of a heel.” Louis waggles his eyebrows and doesn’t wait for an answer, tearing off his sunnies and pulling him right inside. There’s a few people milling about, trying on shoes or talking to employees.

Louis immediately brings them to the ankle boots, and Harry laughs, flushing a bit.

“I didn’t realise you paid so much attention to my style.” Harry says, knocking their shoulders together and taking off his own sunnies, tucking them in his shirt and browsing the boots.

“I helped you pack, remember? Hard not to notice when we’re stuffing eight different pair’s of Chelsea boots into your trunk.”

“It’s only three pairs, actually. As if I have money for eight.” Harry pouts, turning to him with a furrowed brow.

“Three is basically six which might as well be eight, so you packed eight. Oh, look at those ones!” Louis brushes past him and picks up a shoe from a display. It’s a sleek black pair, the chunky heel at least five centimetres tall. Harry’s boots aren’t normally so tall. Then again, he doesn’t normally perform his songs for thousands of people, so a bit of a loud outfit might be fine.

Might be preferred, actually.

“Lemme try them on.” Harry says, sitting at the bench next to them after finding his size. He shucks off his own shoes and pulls them on. They’re not too tall to walk in, but he’s naturally a bit shit at walking. He’d gone through a few startlingly fast growth spurts in his late teens and is still sort of getting used to his long limbs and pigeon toes.

Nothing his magic can’t fix for him, though.

He stands up and tests them out, walking back and forth a few times. They’re comfortable, and will match the sheer button up he’ll be wearing.

“I like them.” Harry says, looking back to Louis, only to find he’s slowly replacing the sunnies on his nose with a coy smile. Harry fumbles for his own, putting them on before he even knows why.

“They’re great. Let’s buy them before those girls get too good of photos they’re trying to be sneaky about.” Louis says, standing purposefully in front of him. Harry’s probably body blocking him, so he stays where he is, changing back into his own shoes and collecting the boots in their box, walking casually to the register.

“Find everything alright?” The man asks, ringing them up, looking confused about their accessories but otherwise bored.

“Yep!” Harry says too brightly. He wants to look around, spot these girls who are sneaking photos, but for some reason he doesn’t want to make it obvious. They have to look casual. Not like he’s being pampered by his whole arse boyfriend he can't publicly date—

Louis leans against the counter and settles a hand on the lower of his back. A little too low to be platonic, probably, especially with the way he’s smiling up at him, all soft and shit. Harry considers pulling away, knowing they’re being photographed, but maybe that’s why he’s doing it.

Maybe he _wants_ to make it obvious. Wants them to be speculated together. He’s talked about it before, after all. They both have. Harry’s so surprised at the motion that the price of the boots the man mentions doesn’t even register in his head until Louis hands over a sleek black credit card.

“Wait what? £200—Louis!” Harry reaches his hand out, grasping at air uselessly because the man’s already taken his card. Louis smiles at him and hooks a finger in his belt loop to pull him a bit closer.

“Shh. Lemme buy my boy gifts.” He says, taking his card back once it’s swiped and tucking it back in his fold.

“I can’t repay you,” Harry starts, pouting and watching the pretty boots being wrapped up in a fancy bag with a ribbon and everything. Maybe he hadn’t noticed just how high-end the shop was at first, whatever. Louis’ very distracting, it’s not his fault.

“You’ve saved my life, if anything this is me repaying you.” Louis quirks an eyebrow and takes the bag, carrying it for him like a true gentleman as they leave the shop. Harry follows him like a puppy, stomach twisting happily. He never sees the girls who’re sneaking photos of them, but he’s sure he’ll see the photos themselves later on.

They continue on walking. It’s too dark for sunnies, but they keep them on just for the ounce of anonymity it provides. It’s getting cold, especially since the sun’s gone down, but it’s only an excuse to link their arms, tripping over each other and laughing all silly until Louis’ pulling him into some tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Two in your most private seat, please.” Louis says to the waitress, removing not just his glasses but his beanie, then tucking a fifty note into her hand like some kind of fucking rich pimp. Do bribes even work in real life? Isn’t that a thing just for telly?

It’s hot, for some reason. The girl flushesand complies immediately, probably recognising him as well but Louis doesn’t seem to mind, following her to the back of the restaurant to a really quiet section where a booth sits. It’s separated from the rest of the seating, like they get many celebrities wanting privacy. The booth is sat up against a tinted window, giving a lovely view of the busy street outside, a lit candle in the middle of the table. It’s proper romantic.

Once they sit, Louis orders some French wine Harry couldn’t pronounce if he tried, and they both get a water as well. The waitress bustles off to fetch the drinks, and Louis smiles at him over his menu, cheeks a tad pink. Harry giggles into his own menu, kicking his foot out to tap at his, and then they’re playing footsie like teenagers.

It’s an Italian restaurant, as it turns out. The waitress comes back and pours them glasses of the deep red wine, taking their orders before they’re left alone.

Louis takes his hand over the table, touching at his wrist with soft fingers. He asks how he felt performing. Harry takes a breath and gushes about how lovely it was. How much he enjoyed it. How he couldn’t believe singing his songs in front of thousands of people could feel so incredible.

He stops in the middle of his sentence, because his hand is in Louis’ and he can feel adrenaline suddenly spike through the boy. A classic sign he’s about to say something, but isn’t so sure how it’ll turn out.

“What is it?” Harry asks, taking in Louis’ soft smile and even softer eyes.

“I want you to meet my family.” The boy says, probably one of the last things he’d been expecting. Harry blinks in surprise, and then the waitress comes back with their plates. Louis doesn’t take his hand away without giving him a squeeze, picking up his fork instead with a thank you to the girl.

Harry repeats the sentiment, and he can smell his pasta, it smells amazing, but he can’t look away from Louis. Not after what he’s just said.

“You want to introduce me to your family?” He asks, stomach twisting nervously.

“Well..you’ll be filling in for Jane for the next five days. Tomorrow we’re going back to London for two shows, then we’re going to Glasgow for three. After that we have five free days before we fly out to America. I was hoping you might want to come to Donny with me. I mean, my sisters are staying with their father. He’s my first step-dad, but my dad by every meaning but biologically. Like, I took his last name and everything. You wouldn’t get to meet the younger twins ‘cause they’re with Dan, but I just—“

“Louis, I’d love to meet them. You don’t have to explain. I’m just surprised that you want me to. I mean, we really have barely known each other a week.”

“As if I needed that long to know.” Louis huffs, then he swallows audibly and drops his eyes to his food, swirling his fork in his ravioli as his cheeks flush, clearly not having meant to actually say it.

Harry laughs, having to reach down and physically hold onto the booth below them so he doesn’t just fucking float away. His magic buzzes through every inch of him. Meeting the family. That’s..that’s long-term shit. That’s the kind of thing you do when you’re serious about a relationship.

Of course, Harry’s been at that stage since that first night, but he hadn’t realised just how much Louis was feeling the same. How much he was willing to let himself fall that quickly.

Well, he did, because he can feel that Louis loves him with just one touch, but it doesn’t mean he _knows_. His soul knows how he feels, his body knows, but he might not realise that’s exactly what he’s feeling for who knows how long.

“I didn’t need that long to know, either.” Harry says, tapping Louis’ foot with his own. The boy smiles and sips at his expensive wine, staining his lips beautifully.

They don’t stop smiling silly at each other for the entire dinner.

-

They don’t make it two steps into the room before Louis’ tugging him down for a kiss, kicking the door shut behind them and dropping the shoe bag, shoving Harry’s coat down his arms. He tastes like marinara and wine and it’s fucking delicious.

“We have..research to do..remember?” Harry mutters between kisses, pulling him closer by his hips, unbuttoning his jeans with fumbling fingers.

“I know. I’m not expecting _that_ tonight. I promised to ride you, remember?” Then he pulls Harry into the room and shoves him roughly down onto the bed. Harry lies back and attempts to catch his breath as Louis strips slowly in front of him, putting on a show.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and Harry inhales deeply through his nose. Control. He needs to control it. If he can’t control his magic during sex, how would he ever be able to when he’s eventually persuaded to dom him again?

Louis climbs up onto him, connecting their lips once more, completely nude now. Harry settles his hands on his bare thighs, mouth slacking at the wave of want and love the boy is feeling.

His magic swirls under his skin, the tips of his fingers, the wet slide of their lips together.

He focuses on it, for once. He focuses on his magic itself, visualises it. It’s strong, is what it is. It took him years to be able to touch himself without levitating and blowing every lightbulb in his childhood bedroom.

Now, though, it’s not just him to think about. It’s Louis. The way he opened up last night. Let his walls down, as Mark had said. He can’t risk changing his future every time it happens. He can’t risk losing control. Maybe his magic won’t hurt him, but maybe accidents can happen.

So he focuses, watches Louis open himself up with breathy sounds and keeps his hands on him the whole time, doesn’t try to keep the magic in himself, lets it flow between them, controls how much he’s giving and how much he’s taking.

When Louis sinks down onto him, his control stutters, but he maintains it, groaning low in his throat as the boy bottoms out with the prettiest noises. As he’s ridden, he feels the muscles in Louis’ thighs tighten, the athletic fuck taking him in the most beautiful way, sweat beading on both of their hairlines as the air thickens.

The bed creaks under them as Louis bounces, and Harry can feel the exact moment his control begins to falter. When the boy finds the perfect angle and barrels down right onto his prostate, moaning loudly. The pleasure sizzles right into Harry’s hands on his thighs, and he slips just a bit, the magic threatening to leave his skin, wave out beyond him and cause another fucking rainstorm.

Then Louis reaches down, placing a hand on his chest and touching his cross, pooling heavily on his throat.

Harry reaches up and puts his hand over his, and then it’s like his magic has somewhere to go. He focuses it there, in the expensive necklace, right into the silver.

When Louis comes, his nails bite into Harry’s chest, anchoring him once again. Always anchoring him.

Harry’s soon to follow, hips snapping up and making Louis whine and babble nonsense about how good it is.

Afterwards, the boy lifts up until he slides out and then lies down over him, nose to his neck as they catch their breaths.

Harry noses into his hair, smelling his sweet shampoo, and can’t help but smile. Not once did lightning flash into the window. Not a single raindrop fell from the sky.

It’s not complete control, but it’s a start.

-

By the time the first show in Glasgow comes around, Harry’s performed the show in Manchester and two in London. He’s practically a professional.

And yet, his hands still shake nervously. It still takes him the full performance of Happily before he can settle into that mind-numbing stage presence he gets.

Still, something feels different today. Maybe it’s the change of city. He’s never been to Glasgow. What if they don’t like him?

“Hey, rockstar, I wanna show you something.” It’s Eleanor, wearing a stunning little black dress and heels. She tugs him right out of the dressing room despite him being already late to getting his hair done.

Alas, Harry’s a bit of a sucker for mischief, obvious to anyone who knows who he’s dating, so he lets her take his hand and sneak him through the hallways and up onto the balcony of the arena. They could probably be seen by the audience below, but they seem rather occupied.

They’re chanting. They’re chanting _his_ name.

There’s ten minutes before he even needs to be backstage, but they’re still chanting. Just in anticipation. For him. They want to see him.

“Harry! Harry! Harry!” Eleanor joins in with a giggle, and Harry grins, heart absolutely full with love. Love for the people who support him, love for everyone in this building, really.

“Is this actually happening?” He asks. It’s surreal, is what it is. A month ago he was just some guy in med school. Now there’s thousands of people in a city he’s never been to chanting for him. Not for Jane. Not for One Direction. But the guy who joined in the middle of the tour. The guy who they don’t even really know besides a few blurry photos and shitty Instagram posts.

“Yes, it’s actually happening. I’m proud of you, you know. You go on that stage and you rock it like a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like..like you’re really destined for great things, I can feel it.” She squeezes his hand, still threaded through his.

Harry laughs and wipes at his stupid silly tears, and lets go of her hand only to pull her into a hug. She’s radiating pride. What Harry did to deserve people being so proud of him, he’ll never know.

“If I ever end up on a tour of my own, I swear I’m getting you on my team, even if I gotta pry you right from Modest’s hands.”

Eleanor pulls from the hug with a laugh, patting his cheek.

“You’re sweet. If you ever need a beard, I won’t complain about having to kiss your ugly mug.”

Harry wipes at his eyes with a bark of a laugh, shaking his head at the thought.

“God, imagine those headlines. ‘Young upstart steals megastars long term girlfriend?!’.”

“Or ‘Eleanor finds a new direction?!’”

Harry sputters with his laugh, but she’s just as loud.

Maybe they’re a little too loud, because then there’s screaming, and the chanting fades into everyone screaming, and they look over to find people racing up aisles for the stairs, eyes on them.

Right, they sort of are just on the balcony. Visible to anyone who dared to look back.

“We might want to run now.” Eleanor says, so they do.

The fun of it all is almost enough to distract him from the tingle in his fingers. Maybe if he wasn’t so excited for the show, he’d have paid it more attention.

-

When he steps off stage after his performance, Louis isn’t at the cameras. That’s the first time that night he really notices the tingles in his fingers, his magic buzzing uncertainly.

“Where is he?” He asks nobody in particular, but loud enough that many people stop, heads turning.

“Harry, you need to let the medics take care of him,” Paul touches his arm and that’s all he needs. Harry turns and touches him back for just a moment, and he gets exactly the information he needs. The _where_.

He takes off before anyone can even think about reaching out and stopping him. He doesn’t stop running until he’s bursting into the room, and his heart skips at the sight.

There’s people all over the fucking place, three people shouting desperately into phones, security holding crew and the boys of the band back as two medics provided by the arena kneel over Louis. The boy lies on the floor, face white like it’s lacking consistent blood flow. One medic charges an AED, while the other places clear sticky pads on Louis’ chest in the appropriate places to shock him.

“Wait! Wait, just—“ Harry doesn’t give a reason, because how could he? ‘ _Give me a second to touch him and use my magic to assess what’s wrong’?_ Yeah, not great.

Everyone looks at him, and he pushes through the hold of security because he can be stronger if he needs to be. He crashes down onto his knees, lying a hand on his ankle.

Cardiac arrest. Electrocution. It would take him seconds to bring him back, but he can’t do it the way he wants to, not in front of all these people. He has to make it look natural.

Most of all, he can’t leave Louis’ life in in the hands of these medics. Louis will die. It’s not that the medics aren’t properly trained, they’re probably great, but they can’t fight against fate. He’s destined to die. The only thing that can prolong that is his magic. It has to be him.

“Clear! We need to shock him!” The medic says, waving at security to grab him.

“No! Get out of the way, it’s not what he needs, you can’t help him,” Harry takes a breath and shoves his way in, laces his hands over each other and does CPR. With a hand on him, he uses his magic, giving him piece after piece. There’s people telling him CPR was already done, there’s someone tugging at his arm trying to pull him away, but he doesn’t stop.

He pumps his hands to the beat of Stayin’ Alive and ignores everyone else. He can feel Louis’ ribs break under his hands, as they’re meant to do during CPR, but more importantly he feels Louis’ soul flicker, the blood pump through his veins.

He stops and leans over him, tilting his chin up as he learned in school and giving him air. He feels dizzy, giving him so much, especially with the stress of the room.

When he pulls away, Louis wakes with a cough, gasping. Everyone in the room starts shouting, cheering, saying whatever they’re saying, but Harry cups the boy’s cheek, stays right there with their noses brushing together until Louis’ eyes return to their regular blue, rather than the full white that would definitely freak everyone here out.

“You’re okay, baby.” Harry says, holding him still as he takes big breaths, eyes wide and fear slipping through him. He reaches up and clutches Harry’s arms weakly.

“Harry, oh fuck—hurts.” It should hurt, since his ribs are broken.

Harry fixes that in about two seconds.

“Ambulance is here!” Someone calls into the loud room. Louis attempts to sit up, but Harry holds him down.

“Don’t move, Lou, you could hurt yourself more.”

“Fuckin’ hell, did you save my life again?” Louis asks, reaching up to touch his face, but he’s weak, so he only reaches his shoulder, making a frustrated noise.

Two people come in with a gurney, and they carefully pick Louis up onto a board, keeping his back straight just in case. Who the hell knows what actually happened.

“I’ll meet you there, okay? I’ll meet you at the hospital.” Harry promises, and uses the last bit of his strength to calm the boy, keep him stable so he doesn’t freak out.

They roll him out of the door, and immediately there’s hands on Harry, Liam holding him up so he doesn’t fall and brain himself. As if his magic would allow that.

“Please, take me to him, Li, Li—“

“Of course, Harry. Are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m..I’m going to pass the fuck out now, please just take me to him.”

It’s hitting him all at once, for some reason. Louis is going to keep dying. Harry’s going to give everything he has every time to keep him here. It’s going to be a never ending cycle. Death doesn’t care that the boy is supposed to be on stage in an hour.

The anxiety creeps over him like a wave. His magic feels the panic attack imminent, and flicks his brain off to prevent it.

Harry takes a shudder of a breath, and falls limp in the boys’ arms.

-

Harry wakes up with an itch in his throat. An ache similar to the one he felt the day Louis was away working. He’s away now, which is probably why he’s aching again.

“Okay lets take it slow, lad.” Aiden sets a hand on him, and Harry realises he’s climbing out of whatever plastic-crinkling bed he’s lying in before he’s even opened his eyes.

He does just that, opens his eyes that is, and looks down to see an IV in his arms, following that up to the bag.

“It’s fluids. They think you were dehydrated and that’s why you blacked out.”

“I blacked out because I was going to have an anxiety attack.”

And then abruptly, Aiden starts to cry.

Harry frowns and reaches for him, settling a hand on his arm and feeling nothing but guilt.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Harry’s worry spikes, but he knows Louis is okay. If he weren’t, his magic would be aching a lot more than it is now.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry. I was the one who dared him to mess with the lights. We were going to prank the crew, cut the lights for the green room so they’d freak out. It all happened so fast—“

“He was electrocuted.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t need his magic to guess, but it’s still what’s given him the answer.

“He didn’t want to leave the cameras. He wanted to keep watching you, but I convinced him to leave, I convinced him it’d be funny,”

“Aiden, it’s alright. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known something like that would happen. Nobody blames you.” Harry pulls him into a hug, calms him down quickly because he really needs to see Louis before his magic starts messing with lights of its own.

“Take me to him, yeah?” Harry stands up, removes his IV carefully, finding a plaster in a drawer next to them, sticking it over a small cotton ball where the needle was.

“You’re good at that.” Aiden observes, arms crossed and still sniffling. Harry disposes of the needle and cuts the bag so it stops dripping with a smile.

“I was in med-school just a bit ago, y’know. C’mon, let’s go see him.”

They step out of the room, walking through the hallways. There’s a hum going through the hospital. Dread and death. He’s never liked hospitals. Too many lingering souls and too much sadness hanging in the air. Makes it hard to breathe.

“When we leave it’ll be a bit of a hassle. There’s lots of press outside. The story made the front page of pretty much every paper. They had to give a reason for the show being postponed, obviously, so they just told the truth.”

“Which is what?”

“Louis got electrocuted and you saved the fuck out of him like some badass superhero, that’s what. This also sort of boosted you. The London recording of you singing Medicine in that pink suit hit, like, 50 million views or something. People are petitioning for you to have your own set in the tour. Between Jane and us.”

“Shit.” Harry breathes, a bit overwhelmed with all of that information. Aiden smiles and tugs him around a corner. They can hear Louis before they can see him, dramatically telling the story, only there’s ten backflips involved and a ballad duet they apparently performed when he was resuscitated.

Stepping into the room, they find Liam and Nicolò sitting with him. Along with Paul and Daniel and like five other people in the crew.

“Hey.” Harry says, smiling at him. Louis stops in the middle of his story, smiles back just as softly.

“I think that’s our cue to leave.” Someone says, and they all get up to go, patting Louis’ and Harry’s shoulders as they go.

Then they’re alone.

“Im calling it now, your superhero count’s gonna reach double digits before we leave for the states.” 

Harry huffs a laugh, stepping up to the bed and sitting next to him. He gets a hand on him immediately, finding he’s perfectly fine. He’s getting fluids as well, hydrating him and making his cheeks a pretty pink. He’s had blood taken and has rested since he was brought in.

“Aiden told me what happened.”

“Did he tell you about the part where you’ve gained a million Instagram followers?” Louis asks. Harry rolls his eyes, placing a hand on the other side of the boy’s legs and leaning in to kiss him. Louis smiles against his lips, tugging him closer.

“Are you okay? Not physically, I mean.” Harry asks as soon as they pull away, brushing a thumb over his jaw sweetly.

“Yeah. I mean, it was scary at first, because I was being shocked and I couldn’t move, but Aiden pulled me away and then I just passed out.”

“I don’t mean the accident itself. I mean the dying part. Your heart was stopped when I arrived. Last time that happened you came back freaking the fuck out.”

“Well, I don’t think I really died like I did last time. It was different. I don’t remember being dead this time. God, that’s such a weird thing to say. I’ve been dead multiple times. I’m starting to feel bad about taking you away from medical school. You’d make a great doctor.”

Harry smiles, shaking his head.

“I can still finish school whenever I want. Don’t think I wanna leave your danger-prone arse anytime soon, though.”

Louis doesn’t laugh, and it takes Harry everything he has not to let his own smile fall when he feels suspicion flicker through the boy. Immediately, he’s reminded of the last time a boy found out about him, and feels a familiar guilty pang when he remembers where Ben sits now.

“Weird, innit? How I keep trying to die and you keep saving me. Most shit I had growing up was a few broken bones skateboarding. A sea urchin in me foot during boot camp. I never had, like, actual near-death experiences until I met you.”

“And now you’ve had three.”

“Four if you count the almost drugging.” Louis points, and Harry laughs nervously. This feels like a conversation that might end in someone leaving. He has to remember what Mark told him. That Louis won’t leave when he finds out. Then again, he can still leave him without actually _leaving_. Mark also said his future changed, so who knows what’s meant to happen next.

“Reckon I’m not that good for you.” Harry says, swallowing thickly. Louis reaches up and touches at the cross hanging between them with a small smile.

“Maybe I was meant to die and you saving me is just pissing death off.” Louis says, and it’s so fucking accurate it takes the air right out of Harry’s lungs.

“I think it’s coincidence that I keep ending up saving you.”

“Even though there were two trained medics failing to do so and you saved me with some light CPR?” Louis asks, still touching at the necklace. Harry keeps his face perfectly neutral, ignoring the way his magic thrums excitedly. Wants to show. Wants Louis to know.

“They weren’t _that_ trained. Just arena medics. I don’t think they knew you’d been electrocuted so they couldn’t treat you correctly.”

“And you did?”

Harry blinks slowly, realising his mistake the second it leaves his mouth. He could take it back. He could fix it easily. He’s been lying and hiding this secret for his entire life. But..this is Louis. He’s meant to know. Why not give him a little push?

“Is there something you’re trying to ask me?”

“I’m asking you why you don’t let me die? If it’s meant to happen.”

“Because you’re my soulmate, and you deserve a full and happy life.” Harry says immediately, ready to admit it all. Would, easily, if Louis asked.

“So you pull me up from a ledge without falling too? Are you going to tell me it was a rush of adrenaline?” Louis asks, looking rather calm for what they’re talking about. Making twilight references as if this isn’t the biggest secret Harry could ever hold. Big enough his own sister doesn’t know. There’s a bit of a shift, because now he’s asking a legitimate question. One he wouldn’t be able to explain in a mortal fashion.

“Yes, I pulled you up. I wasn’t going to let you go, and I’m not going to now.”

“And the showers? How long was I actually dead?”

“Couldn’t have been longer than an hour, or else I wouldn’t have been able to save you without putting myself under.”

“And the rain every time we have sex?”

“Have you seen yourself? It’s hard to stay under control when you’re naked with me.” Harry takes a breath, keeps expecting him to ask. Waits patiently for him to ask.

_What is it exactly_? Or _are you magic_? Or anything. Anything besides what he’s doing, chewing on the inside of his lip and fiddling with his necklace thoughtfully.

“What about the gold skin thing?”

“I..don’t know, actually. I didn’t realise you’d noticed that.” Harry blinks in surprise. It’s not the first time he’s caught off guard with this boy. Always seems to be with him.

“Did you see me coming? Did you know me before I knew you?” He asks next, eyes narrowed.

“No. I don’t look further willingly. It can change things.”

“But you know what I’m..feeling?” He doesn’t say thinking, surprisingly. Harry was expecting thinking. Ben had said thinking.

Perhaps Louis’ been suspecting for longer than he’d realised.

“Yes. Only through my hands.”

“You have to be the one touching?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I want to ask you something else, but I want you to close the door first.”

Harry moves to stand immediately, but Louis takes a hold of his wrist, eyes steely, and then he understands. He settles back in his spot and hears the door snick closed behind him. Neither of them turn to watch it. It’s undeniable, now. There’s no going back.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.” Harry doesn’t hesitate, breathless.

“Do I love you on my own accord? Or can you make that happen?”

“No! No, I’d never do something like that. I’d never make you love me, I don’t even know if I could.” Harry frowns, heart racing just at the fact Louis thought that was a possibility. God.

“And you want to marry me and have kids with me and keep saving my life forever?”

“Yes, so fucking much.” Harry says, fisting the sheet below him. He wants to kiss him so bad, but doesn’t want to break the dam yet. Doesn’t want to let his magic free just yet. Not when he doesn’t know exactly where this is headed.

“Okay. How long do we have?”

“Until what?”

“Until death catches up with us.”

“Louis,” Harry breathes, eyes prickling, “he can’t. My..I can keep him sedated for however long I want. As long as we’re together. As long as you let me stay.”

“So we can have forever?” Louis asks, eyebrows furrowing. Surely it’s confusing. His lack of freaking out is kinda making Harry freak out.

“We can have forever.”

“Okay. You can stop hesitating and touch me while I process for a bit.” Louis lies his head back, and immediately Harry leans in, pressing his nose to the boy’s neck, hands skirting up his arms, gasping audibly at the rollercoaster of feelings coursing through him. None of which are visibly showing. Sometimes he forgets how good of an actor Louis is.

He lets Louis process for about twenty seconds, before it bursts out of him.

“When did you know?”

“Well, I’d suspecting something was different about you since the moment we met, and my brain sort of chalked the whole golden skin thing up to my weird ‘under’ headspace, until about a few hours ago.”

“You only realised tonight?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid I broke a rib in a shitty school fight. I realised that’s what was hurting right when I came back, and then as soon as I told you, it went away. You made it go away.”

“I knew that was a risky move.” Harry sighs, pressing a kiss to his neck. He’s feeling so much it’s hard to focus on one thing, so he just focuses on this. On the feeling of his skin under his lips, his hand running gently over Harry’s back. The way he has to fold himself just to be able to fit under his chin like this with their size difference.

They lie there for a long few minutes, and Harry aligns their breathing together, just enjoying this quiet time. They haven’t had much of it, especially in the last few days with the tour.

“Harry..”

“Yeah?” He lifts his head at the tone of Louis’ voice. One of his emotions drifts to the top, finally, and it’s fear. Of all things it’s fear.

“Are you going to make me forget?” He asks, turning his arm under Harry’s to hold him right back, as if he can read him too.

“What? Forget what?”

“Anything. Anything we just talked about, or maybe everything. Or maybe just you. Do you have to make me forget? Cause if you do, can you still stay? I don’t want to forget you—“ his eyes are welling up. Harry shakes his head furiously and touches his cheek, eyebrows furrowing.

“No, no, baby. I’m not going to wipe you, bloody hell. This secret is big, yeah. My sister can’t even know. But it’s different with us. We’re soulmates, you’re the only exception.”

Louis blinks at him for a long few seconds, and then he throws a hand over his face and laughs, carefree and damn confusing.

“You did _not_ just quote Paramour to me.”

Harry frowns, and then he realises, and then they’re both laughing. As if he didn’t just tell him his biggest secret in the world under no certain words. As if this is just a regular silly conversation they’re having.

“You are the only exception,” Harry croons, then kisses Louis’ mouth while he’s still mid-laugh. The boy bites at him, but kisses back, tongue swiping over the hurt immediately.

“Mm!” Louis pulls back, eyebrows raising as he realises he wants to ask something, “how far does it go? Dragons? Hogwarts? Actual superheroes?”

“No! Well, I mean, I dunno actually. I’ve only met two others like me. It’s genetic, so my mother is the same. And my teacher. He helped me learn to control it. His father was mum’s teacher, and it goes on back into my ancestors and his, I suppose.”

“So you’re _definitely_ giving the sperm for our surrogate, then.” Louis says easily, as if they’ve talked about kids a million times. He’s taking this so easily it’s almost frightening.

“I’ll give four if you give four.”

“Eight kids, huh? You act like I don’t want twenty of them, Curly.” Louis deadpans, flicking at his ear like he’s actually cross. Harry can’t help his stupid grin. God. Louis wants kids with him. They’re actively talking about kids. _Babies_. Babies with Louis. Wow.

“Whatever, Lewis, just try not to die in public again before you out my magic to the whole world.”

For some reason, that’s what gets him. He can feel the overwhelming emotions bubbling out as soon as the word ‘magic’ falls from his lips.

“Okay, don’t freak out. All I did is put a word to the thing we’ve been talking about for twenty minutes now.”

“I know,” Louis sucks in a shaky breath, “I think that’s why. God, can’t you mood-control me or something?” He pokes Harry’s chest harshly, and he laughs, raising an eyebrow.

“You want me to do that? I don’t usually like to manipulate—“

“Not manipulation if I’m asking for it. C’mon, calm me down.” His heart’s beating really fast, and Harry focuses on one emotion he can really feel from him, strong even after they’ve talked about this.

Trust.

It only takes a moment to calm him. He gives him contentment, joy, pressing the panic away with ease. He watches the change happen visually. Louis’ shoulders relax from their tense state, his hands stop shaking, and his furrowed brow fades into a small smile.

“Thanks. Wasn’t 100% sure you could even do that. Gonna use that a lot, hope you realise.”

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I want to nap right here until we’re forced out of this hospital. My brain actually hurts from this conversation.” Louis fumbles for the bed remote, and lowers the bed slowly, then he scoots over, mindful of his IV as he makes room for him.

Harry climbs into the space provided, and then they’re all tangled together and his magic is fucking soaring happily.

“Lights, H.” Louis yawns.

He doesn’t even need to lift a finger to flick them off.

-

They don’t really talk about it for the next four days. Mostly because they do shows, an additional one on day four to make up for the postponed show. Then they have four days off before America. It would be five if Louis didn’t get himself fucking electrocuted, but Harry isn’t angry about it.

They don’t really talk much about anything, actually, because around shows and interviews and Harry’s confusing new fan base erupting out of nowhere, they’re too busy to do anything but sleep when they get to the room.

By the time they actually get to talk, it’s not until they’re finally on the trip, and Harry’s in the drivers seat with his GPS set for Doncaster. Louis would probably be driving instead if he didn’t pout his pretty little arse off about it for three hours while they packed for the drive.

It’s only a four hour drive, anyway. Louis buys just about every snack the hotel bar had to offer, and they’ve barely been driving the freeway for ten minutes when he reaches into a bag of crisps and drops a bomb.

“So I did the research on the sex stuff.” He says casually. Harry would probably swerve if he weren’t half asleep and mostly letting his magic drive for him anyway.

“What did you find out? Actually, when did you even have time to do that?”

“We did separate interviews yesterday, so I did it during the other boys’ instead of napping,” Louis dismisses that part of the conversation with a wave of his hand, “anyway, so I found out what it was is subspace. You’re a Dom and I would be considered a sub. You fucked me so good I forgot me own name. Didn’t say anything about skin glowing gold, though.”

“Uh, yeah. The skin thing might’ve been something with our souls or whatever. When you go under like that, you drop your defences. So my magic has a straight connection to everything you are. I have a theory that the golden thing might just be your soul reaching back for mine or something. That..made more sense in my head.”

“No, I think it makes sense. I don’t get one thing though, how would my defences drop? They already are. I mean, I’ve put more trust in you than I have with anyone I’ve ever know. My walls are already down with this.” He motions between them, eyebrows furrowed and legs up against the dashboard despite Harry warning him that his hips are gonna get crushed if they wreck.

“Nah, you’ll always have walls up no matter how close we are. I just have a bit of a upper hand even if you don’t want me to know something.”

Louis nods, and then he pauses mid-chew, glancing out of the window.

“What is it?” Harry asks.

“Just..putting things together that went over my head before. You realising I didn’t believe your compliments when nobody else had ever doubted me believing them before.” Ah, so he’s getting that one finally. Harry smiles, reaching down for his coffee, having a sip.

“So, back to the d/s thing.”

“Right! So anyway, we both know I’m the boss of you at all times—“

“Of course.”

“ _but_ , I’m not opposed to a little manhandling. The wrist tying thing is..effective.” Louis’ voice goes a little hoarse. Just at the mention of it. Harry tries not to smirk too hard.

“We should probably talk about limits. What’s okay and what’s not. We should definitely have a safe-word, too.”

“I’m..I’m not going to call you _Daddy_ , if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

It wasn’t, but the word falls so softly from his lips, and Harry has to look over. At the way he just is right now. Soft grey jumper rolled up to show his dainty wrists. Blue eyes levelling him with a look, his thighs splayed out over the seat. Fuckin’ hell.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.” He replies without really thinking about it, and they stare for each other for long enough that it becomes obvious Harry’s hardly even paying attention to the road anyway, especially when he switches lanes without looking away. Magic is really helpful sometimes. All the time, actually. Driving would be terribly boring without it, he imagines.

“Okay,” Louis says, voice cracking on the word, “let’s not talk about that for at _least_ a month. Moving on! I think a food for the safe word would be good. Something small but not something we’d just bring up in our regular conversations.”

“Kiwi?”

“Kiwi,” Louis repeats, testing the word on his tongue, cheeks still pink from what was just said, “that’s good. Onto limits. The pain thing is cool, but not too much. Like..I don’t think I’d want to be spanked or something.”

“Figured as much. You did pick the belt over the tie, though. You also get all twitchy when I bite you a bit.”

“Yeah, you get it. Next, the stuff I don’t really understand. The whole subspace thing. I didn’t know it was going to happen, and I don’t really know exactly which part caused it, but it was, um..it was good. I sort of forgot who I was a bit.”

“It’s dangerous, though. I can’t get you like that again, not for a while,” Harry glances over to see Louis’ pout and can’t help but smile, “not because it wasn’t good, because it was really fucking good, but the whole thing where your walls fall down is new. My trainer doesn’t have much experience with soulmates. He said your future changed when it happened.”

“Good or bad?”

“If he told me it would probably change again, so I don’t know. When my magic has a direct line to your soul it can change more than your future. When you lose control like that, so does my magic. It’s a bit more than the lightning storm. It can be time altering. It can cause us to accidentally jump through time. It’s unknown just how far it can go, but I’m starting to learn to control it. Our last time, it didn’t rain. I found a way to gather it into one spot. If I can find a way to control it while you’re down, we can try again.”

“And what if I fall without meaning to?”

“I don’t think that can happen. Especially if I don’t tie you up again.”

“Fair enough. I think that settles that, then. Last thing..it’s not just the sex.”

“It’s not?” Harry looks over to him, eyebrows raising. Louis fiddles with a loose thread on his jeans. They’re both at a bit of a semi from the conversation. Can’t really be helped, to be fair. It has been a few days without getting off for both of them.

“Sometimes we’ll be sitting together and you’ll, like, put your fingers around my wrist. I don’t know if it’s just an echo of the tying up thing, but it calms me down every time. I don’t even think you realise you do it, but it’s almost always when I feel a little well..anything but happy, I guess.”

“I didn’t realise I did that, actually. You do it for me too, y’know. Anchor me down by holding my hand before I perform.”

“Well, it is a two way relationship. This conversation is making me hungry.” Louis sighs and reaches down for his plethora of snacks, sitting back up with a beef stick in his hand. Harry smiles fondly.

“I love you.” He says, totally casually, as if they’ve even come close to saying it like that since the hospital. As if he hasn’t been holding it back for the last four days.

Louis looks at him with wide eyes, jaw chewing carefully.

“Of course the first time you actually say that to me, I’ve got me mouth full of meat.” He says, not even waiting to swallow before he speaks. Harry grins, reaching for his hand to thread their fingers together. Louis’ cross expression and his pout can’t cover the warmth he’s feeling right now.

“That mouth deserves to always be full of meat, baby.” Harry sighs, and doesn’t block it when Louis reaches over and slaps him. It doesn’t hurt bad, anyway. He never actually hurts him, not like he slaps Liam or Aiden or gets Nicolò in the balls. His hand always slows just enough that it’s still playful with him. He probably doesn’t even realise it’s happening.

Harry’s definitely not going to point it out. He just smiles as Louis yawns dramatically and takes his hand away, reclines his seat to nap, apparently done with the sex conversation. He’s quiet for long enough that Harry thinks he may have actually fallen asleep.

Then, nimble fingers reach over and touch the inside of his elbow, tapping him three times there.

“I love you too.” He murmurs, like he realised he didn’t say it back and couldn’t _not_ return the sentiment. Harry grins, looks over to see his soft smile and his pink cheeks.

Neither of them are surprised when light rain abruptly starts to hit the windscreen.

-

Louis’ family house is a bit smaller than he expected.

Not in a bad way, of course. It’s a rather large house, still. He’d just sort of though all megastars and everyone in their family lived in mansions. He hadn’t even stopped to think that mansions are probably too big and too much maintenance for a regular family.

“What if they don’t like me?” Harry asks, pulling his and Louis’ packs out of the boot so they can head up the driveway and into the perfectly regular sized home.

“You charmed your way into stealing most of my fans and causing petitions to be added to the tour. You really think more teenage girls and a middle-aged man won’t like you?”

That’s sort of the two exact ages that he usually charms without much effort, but it’s hard to push the nerves down. This is the family of the boy he intends to be with forever. If he can’t get on their good-side, he’s going to be fucked.

His magic is thrumming, and it’s probably the nerves, especially when they reach the door and Louis lets himself in with a loud ‘honey, I’m home!’

Then Louis is enveloped in a gaggle of pretty girls and when his step-dad walks into the room behind them, Harry realises exactly why his magic is thrumming. It’s not the nerves.

Time stops.

Literally, it stops. Everything is frozen around him much like it was that day he saw the scary premonition of Louis, only this time he didn’t cause it.

“I told you not to freak out next time you traveled.” Mark says, staying where he is, just a metre away and stood above his children, all huddled together in a hug. He looks only slightly different in reality than he does when their souls meet. A little more colour to his cheeks. A little more shine to his eyes.

“Tell me you didn’t set this up—“ Harry says, stomach twisting painfully just at the thought.

“I didn’t. Of course not, Harry. I didn’t realise you even knew Louis until I saw him meet you the day before you did. I keep tabs on him, of course. I thought about telling you this whole time but I didn’t want to change anything.”

“Why can you view the future without changing anything?”

“Once you’ve mastered the rules, you can bend the rules. That’s a chat for a different day. We need to continue on now. Tonight, we’ll meet in the forest and we can talk more, alright?”

Harry frowns, but he nods, and then life goes on. Harry meets Lottie, Phoebe, and Daisy. He shakes Mark’s hand and introduces himself as if he isn’t the man who literally shaped Harry into who he is today, magically speaking.

There’s a bit of interrogation by the girls, and Harry answers all of their questions while they sip at some tea. Then, there’s a few bittersweet minutes during the house tour where Louis stops in a hallway and points at photos, introduces him to his mum and Félicitè. Two woman he’ll never get to actually meet.

“They’re beautiful. You look a lot alike.” Harry says softly, touching the border of Johanna’s photo.

“Yeah.” Louis says thickly, lying a head on his shoulder. Harry can’t even imagine. He’s lost his step-dad, elderly members of his family, but he can’t imagine losing his mum. Gemma. It makes his insides want to turn in on themselves.

They stand there for a few minutes, looking at the photos, then Louis tucks his hand around his arm and pulls him into a simple but nicely decorated bedroom.

“This is the guest room. I always stay in it when I visit, so it’s sort of mine.”

Harry smiles, watching him step away and flop onto the bed, rag-dolling a bit.

“I really like your family.” He replies, leaning against the doorway.

“Did you see the twins’ smiles? I think they really like you too.” Louis stretches his arms over his head, and Harry is vividly reminded of when he tied him up and fucked him until his skin literally turned golden.

He puts that thought away immediately, knowing they’re at his family’s house and sex here would be wildly rude. In every definition of the word.

Still, thunder rumbles in the distance before he can clear his head. Louis sits up immediately and looks at him, eyes narrowing.

“You thinking about me?” He asks, trying not to smile as he tilts his head so the light hits him just right, ankles crossing prettily. What the fuck.

“I’m not the reason for _every_ rainstorm, y’know.”

“Hmm. I’m sure it was just a coincidence, then.” He says, then he stretches again, only this time he rolls over so his arse is on display. He wore some really nice red joggers today, too. Harry can only pout as thunder rumbles closer.

“Hypothetically, if it was me it’s not my fault.”

“Well, can you hypothetically come give me a back rub, then?” He asks with a sigh, and Harry’s climbing onto the bed before he can even finish the sentence. He’d never pass up an opportunity to touch Louis Tomlinson and make him groan happily.

It’s a gift from god to get his hands on that body, he swears.

-

That night, Harry waits patiently for Mark to call him to the meeting. By patiently, he means he lies there tapping his fingers against the sheets for an hour and a half and would probably get up and pace if Louis weren’t asleep half on top of him.

Finally, the bedroom fades and he’s stood in the forest. Mark is already waiting in front of him, clad in his own pyjamas.

“I’m sure you have questions.” He says, and Harry nods feverishly.

“Yes. Are any of the girls like us?”

“Lottie, and our dear Fizzy was as well.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry says immediately, stomach flipping.

“Thank you. She was very gifted, but sometimes a person gets so in their own head that even magic can’t save them.”

Harry remembers Louis’ dark centre not so long ago with a shiver. This family has been through so much.

“I told Louis my mum is like me, and that my trainer is as well, but I didn’t tell him my trainer’s name.”

“Good lad. You can tell him about your own bloodline, of course, but mine and Lottie’s aren’t yours to tell. You understand?”

“Of course. C-can I..am I allowed to show myself to Lottie? I’ve never known anyone around my age like me. I mean, I don’t want to overstep—“

“I’ll arrange that, sure. We have to stick together, people like us. Do you have more questions?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry flushes, fiddling with the skin on his knuckles, “I intend to marry your son, and with the pace we’re moving at it may not be long before one of us jumps the gun. I just..”

“You have my blessing, Harry. Of course. Nothing makes me happier than to see how happy you make him.” Mark grins, and closes the small distance between them for a hug. It’s a bit different here, in their soul meetings. Missing the warmth of their bodies, but he’s used to it after meeting here his whole life.

“Thank you. Not just for the blessing. For everything, I mean. I think without you I may have accidentally killed myself before I even realised what I was.”

Mark laughs, patting his back.

“Perhaps. Just remember, when your child is five years old, you give Lottie a call. She will train them, just as you will with her children.”

“Wait, so my mum?”

“Trains her, yes.”

“Wow. I can’t believe our families are so connected and I never realised.”

“Well, trainer’s don’t usually give out last names. You only found out today I’m a Tomlinson.”

He’s right. Harry grins, sitting at his usual stump and sighing blissfully.

“How will I know that my child has the gift?”

“You’ll touch them and know. Our magic doesn’t start coming out until age five, so you’ll have a head start. Won’t have to worry about your baby levitating out of a crib. Not that it’s a problem, since you found your soulmate.”

“I wish everyone could find their soulmate.” Harry frowns, heart aching for those who love but miss out on getting to _love_.

“It’s alright. Nobody knows what they’re missing unless they’ve found it, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does.”

“Well, goodnight Harry.”

“Goodnight.” He echoes, smiling softly. With that, he’s back in the bedroom. Turning, he presses his nose to Louis’ hair, and the boy hums, scooting impossibly closer.

He can’t imagine not having this.

-

The next morning, Mark sends Louis and the twins out for a walk, and then he takes Harry and Lottie out of the backdoor and through the back-gate.

Lottie looks confused, but she doesn’t ask, and they walk in comfortable silence through a path in the forest until things start to feel a lot more familiar. Then they step out into a clearing next to a meadow, and Harry’s breath catches.

“Oh.” He says breathlessly. It’s exactly the same as their meetings, only it’s the real thing. The trees are darker, the moss on the ground a bit damp with the morning mildew.

“I’m going to gather some firewood so we can have s’mores later. You two have a talk.” Mark days with a smile, then continues on through the forest. Lottie still looks confused, so Harry turns to her.

“Do you practice your magic out here?” He asks, and Lottie startles, eyes wide and mouth slacking in shock.

“What?”

“When I was a kid I always liked sneaking onto the roof of my primary school. It was secluded enough, and I mastered levitating up there.” He reaches out, takes her hand so she can believe him.

The Tomlinson’s all seem to feel in a very loud way, and it’s overwhelming in the same way it was when he first touched Louis, but it fades after a few seconds. The worry leaves her eyes and then she smiles, likely reading him right back. Her hand tightens in his.

“Yes. I usually practice in the meadow. Levitating took me years to get. Fizzy had it down by the time she was seven.”

“Wow. Sounds like she was immensely gifted.”

“She really was. I think that may have been what started her downspiral, though. She was a lot more mature than her age. Does Louis know?” She feels vaguely panicked as she says this.

“About me, yes, but not about you or Mark. We’re soulmates, Louis and I, so he’s allowed to know.”

“Like _soulmates_ soulmates?” Lottie grins, in awe.

“Yeah.”

“So you love him, right? Even though we only learned you existed like a week ago?”

Harry laughs, taking his hand away only to scrub it down his face, embarrassed.

“Yes, I love him. More than I’ve loved anyone ever, really.” He says with a soft smile. Lottie processes this for a few moments, then she nods.

“Okay. I’m going to show you something. I haven’t fully mastered this, so mind any kinks you might see.” She steps up to him and reaches up, puts both of her hands on his cheeks. Harry blinks in confusion but doesn’t back away, trusting her. She has a kind centre.

Then the world around him disappears, and he’s riding a bike down a sidewalk, going quite slow and wobbly. He doesn’t recognise the street or the houses, and his vision is blurry around the edges like a dream, fading into black. It’s summer, going by the warmth on his skin and the sound of birds chirping around him.

“Okay, I’m going to let go now.” A kid’s voice says in his ear, distinctly Yorkshire, and then he’s speeding up, peddling on his own as whoever was helping releases the bike.

“I’m doing it!” He says excitedly, his voice sounds like a young girl’s.

Then the handlebars begin to wobble, and when the wheel catches the curb, he’s flying over the bars and into grass, landing hard on his knee. For a moment, he lies there, feeling the pain and shock, before there’s hands on his shoulders and very familiar blue eyes coming into view.

“Lots! Are you alright? Are you hurt?!” It’s Louis. He can’t be much older than ten or so, hair short and spiked, and yet so clearly him it’s undeniable.

“I’m okay. I did it on my own.” Harry says, no, _Lottie_ says.

“You did it,” Louis repeats, then he laughs and reaches in, fingers gently jabbing his sides in a tinkle battle, “you did it!”

They’re both laughing, joyous and carefree in the way only a child can be, and in an instant, it’s gone. Harry stumbles a bit, steadied by his magic immediately, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust, take in the forest around them and Lottie’s smile in front of him as she retracts her hands.

“Was that,” Harry‘s voice sounds abruptly too deep in his own ears, “was that a memory?”

“Yeah. Cool, innit? Dad didn’t even teach us it. Fizzy said she learned it in a dream. Woke up and taught me how to do it.”

“Can you teach me?” Harry asks breathlessly, heart aching for that carefree feeling of being a child back. Louis’ smile so young and somehow exactly the same.

“I was hoping you’d ask that. Okay, so I start by remembering the memory first, picturing every detail..”

-

Mark passes them with a smile and arms full of firewood at some point, but he and Charlotte don’t make their way back inside until lunchtime.

When they step inside, they’re both still puffy-eyed and pink-cheeked after a long emotional talk about loss and growing up knowing they’re different and Louis and sort of everything in between.

Louis’ mid-sentence about a funny sign he saw at a gig the other day when they walk in and he stops, walking over to them immediately.

“What happened?” He coos, putting an arm around both of them and pulling them down into hugs before he even knows.

“He has my blessing, that’s all you need to know.” Lottie says, and Louis is smiling when he pulls away, presses a kiss to both of their cheeks and turns back to finish his story.

Harry helps Mark out with lunch and the meal is a bit chaotic, embarrassing stories shared around the table, laughing, and a roll or two may be thrown. It’s drastically different from Harry’s dinners growing up, he Gemma and mum talking around the table, quiet and sweet.

He finds that he doesn’t mind the chaos. Can easily picture a future sort of like this. He and Louis peeking at each other with hidden smiles while an abundance of babies and children laugh around them. Dogs and cats, too. He remembers his premonition, 40-something Louis with a toddler, and his stomach swirls with happiness.

This time when the curtains over the windows shift despite nothing being open to cause it, there’s three sets of eyes smiling at him knowingly rather than just Louis’.

He hides his own smile in his tea and pretends it wasn’t him.

-

“What really happened out in those woods?” Louis asks a few hours later. They lie in a hammock in the back lawn, tangled together under an awning that extends from the back of the house, shielded from the rain. Actual natural rain this time, mind you.

“We just talked. We have a lot in common.”

“Did you talk about me?”

“Yeah, a lot. I promised her I’d make sure she is one of your groomsmen.” Harry smiles, feeling Louis’ laugh against his jaw.

“Isn’t that a male position?”

“As if my sister isn’t going to be my best man. Reckon I’m not too much of a traditionalist.”

“You’re definitely a romantic, though. I’m willing to bet you’ll dip me during our kiss.” He doesn’t feel opposed to the idea. It’s also sort of exactly what he envisioned himself doing, but he isn’t going to admit that.

“Nah, I’m not a romantic at all.” He says, throat working at how terrible of a lie it is. He’s managed to hide his magic from the majority of people he’s known his whole life. As soon as it’s literally anything else, he fumbles.

“Is that right? As if I didn’t notice you rented Titanic in our room the other day.”

“Um, that was an accidental purchase.”

“So you _don’t_ want to get up and reenact The Notebook kiss in the rain right now?” Louis lifts his head, eyebrow raised. Harry takes a deep breath, throws a hand over his face dramatically.

“Damnit.”

Louis laughs and climbs up out of the hammock, pulling him up and then just fucking sprinting into the pouring rain like a madman.

“You’re gonna get sick!” Harry calls, chasing after him. They’re soaked pretty much immediately.

“Shut up! Am I Rachel McAdams or Ryan Gosling?”

“I don’t think it’s raining hard enough for the scene!” Harry catches up to him, slipping a bit in the wet grass. Louis turns and crosses his arms.

“Make it rain more then, magic man!”

So he does. Lightning cracks across the sky and it absolutely pours. To the point where when Louis talks he can’t even fucking hear him.

“What?!” He shouts, closing the space between them so he can even hear him.

“I can’t remember what she says in the scene!” Louis yells back. Harry laughs, reaches out and just pulls him in for the kiss.

To be fair, he doesn’t remember the scene word for word either, so it’s just simpler this way. It’s probably better too, if the pleasant surprise swimming through Louis is any indication.

It’s meant to be a movie scene, so he lifts him up a bit, makes it more dramatic. Louis grins against his lips, gets his hands in his hair.

He doesn’t stop until the arousal starts, Louis’ smile fading and his hands tightening. He pulls away, setting the boy back on his feet, cupping his jaw.

“I always thought dramatic kissing scenes were cheesy but,” Louis takes a breath, “I get it now.”

“What happens next?” Harry asks, desperate to distract himself from the way the water makes Louis’ eyelashes stick together in the prettiest way.

“I think the sex scene.” He says, quite suggestively.

“We’re not having sex in your family’s home.” Harry says with a grin. Louis laughs, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing them together. He’s shivering a bit in the rain. It’s definitely far too late in October for this sort of thing.

“You’re good at pretending not to be desperate for it. Hardly been able to even look at each other forever now.”

“You mean, like, three days?”

Louis sighs dramatically, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Guess I gotta take care of it meself, then.” He says, then steps back and peels off his hoodie. Then he’s just in a white t shirt, unfairly see-through since it’s soaked.

“What’re you-?!” Harry chokes off into a laugh when Louis just starts running again, slipping all over the place in the rain, headed for the house.

He lets him get nearly there, then ports in front of the back door, blocking his way in. Louis skids to a halt, eyes wide.

“You can do that?!”

“There’s still plenty you don’t know. Now stop teasing me and let’s get dry so you don’t get sick.” He reaches out and takes his hand, pulling him up under the awning so he’s no longer in the rain.

In the second and a half it takes for him to pull Louis close, he’s dried them both completely without hardly a finger lifted.

For a moment, the boy doesn’t seem to notice, then he huffs a laugh, awe and wonder buzzing through him.

“Charming. Did that trick get Lottie to fall in love with you too?”

“You jealous because your sister likes me more than you?” Harry retorts. Louis frowns and reaches up, tugging at a curl.

“Maybe I am. You gonna redeem yourself or what?”

Harry takes his waist, spins them so it’s Louis up against the back wall of the house, arm up against the brick like a frat boy or something. He leans in until their lips brush, but doesn’t kiss him, keeps leaning in so then he’s up against his ear.

“Now that you know my secret, I don’t need to hold back in more ways than one. I can give it to you any way you want. For hours without a single falter. Until you’re crying because you’ve come so much it hurts.”

Louis takes in a ragged breath, hand grasping the front of his jumper.

“Who’s teasing now? Thought we couldn’t fuck in my family home?”

“Just giving you something to look forward to when we get to the states. Gonna ruin you.” He ducks his head, latches onto Louis’ neck, the soft skin where it meets his shoulder.

“Please,” the boy says, barely audible over the rain, head tilting to expose his neck more. God. They’re both a bit desperate for it, admittedly.

“Can’t right now, baby,” Harry murmurs, tucking a free hand under his shirt to touch his soft hip, “almost time for tea.”

He pulls away from his neck, but stays right there like they’re just casually talking, just before Mark pokes his head out of the back door.

“You boys care for a film? Rented some nice comedy in here.”

“Sounds lovely!” Harry says, stepping back from Louis with a grin, following the man inside as if absolutely nothing was going on.

If they both have to do a bit of adjusting before sitting down, that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

-

Stepping back into the bedroom after a shower, he finds Louis is on the balcony with a beer, just staring out at the void of the woods, barely lit by the moonlight.

He yawns and slides open the door, shivering a bit and joining him, leaning against the railing. It’s really dark. The house isn’t terribly secluded, but there’s enough forest between them and the neighbours that the trees are just a creepy blur of nothing.

“Y’know I used to love the dark,” Louis says quietly after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “when I bought mum this house I was just 20. When I’d come home between tours I would go a bit into those woods and just sit in against a tree. I wouldn’t be able to see anything, and the only noise were owls and the breeze in the leaves. I loved the quiet of it.”

“Why ‘used to’?”

“When I died in the Manchester hotel, I thought the dark emptiness was going to just fuckin’ eat me or something. I don’t know if I was in-between or if that’s truly where we go when we die, but every time I close my eyes for long enough I think about it.”

“You’ve showered on your own for the last three days.” Harry says, scooting closer against the railing to get a hand on him. Not to read him, but just to comfort him.

“Yeah, and it’s been bloody terrifying. I just..I don’t want to hide shit from you. I know I pretend it’s all fine but what happened, it like, haunts me or whatever.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m stood right outside of the door every time you shower alone now. Obviously I could never be affected as you, but finding you like that was the scariest moment of my life.” He exhales shakily as Louis turns towards him, setting his beer on the lip of the railing in favour of stepping all up in his space.

“You guard my showers?” He asks, voice sweet. Harry laughs, feeling like he should probably be embarrassed but just. Isn’t.

“Yeah. M’ kinda really in love with you.”

Louis smiles, his big crinkly pretty one that never fails to make Harry’s heart stutter.

“I think if you really loved me you’d show me everything you can do.” He says, and doesn’t pull away when Harry tips into him, pressing soft kisses at his temple, down his cheek, his jaw.

“Don’t think I’m up for an all-nighter, baby.” He says, turning and pressing him to the railing as his lips reach his neck. Louis makes a light breathy sound and turns his head a bit to accommodate.

“Show me something new then. Can you..talk to the dead?”

“Don’t think so.” He fits a hand under his shirt, feeling the goose pimples rise under his fingers as he drifts them over the boy’s lower back. He tastes so damn good.

“Can you, ah, can you turn invisible?”

“No.” Harry finds a lovely spot just above his collarbone, starts working on a love bite there. It’ll show obviously with even a slightly low hanging shirt. Good.

“Mmm, can y’ fly?”

Harry pulls away and raises an eyebrow, reaches down to pick the boy up by his thighs. He squeaks excitedly and holds Harry’s shoulders tight.

Then they’re off. Harry lifts up from the balcony, suspends in the air to watch the awe drift over Louis’ face, then he brings them up onto the roof, lies him down on some dry shingles, settling right onto him as well.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Louis says breathlessly, nails biting into his shoulders, “we’re going to do that again but right now, fuckin’—“ he pulls at Harry until he gives in, surging down and pressing their lips together.

He’s already situated between the boy’s legs, so it’s rather easy to roll his hips down, coax a moan out of him. He keeps going like that, getting them both off with the layered friction like they’re teenagers. The desperation definitely makes him feel that way, that’s for sure.

He reaches for Louis’ wrist, closes his fingers around it and presses it down against the roof. It’s not like it would be if he were tying him, but Louis makes a choked sound anyway, legs wrapping around his hips to try to increase the friction.

Harry separates their lips with a wet smack, leans his head up to look at him. He’s all pink cheeks and glossy lips, the moonlight giving him a ghostly beautiful glow.

“Feels good?” He asks, using his free hand to skim up his torso, touch his nipple with his thumb.

“Yeah, f-fuck.” Louis arches up into the touch. Harry grins and lifts his hand to his mouth, wetting his thumb so then when he pinches the boy’s nipple, it’s wet too.

Louis moans. It should hurt a bit, the pinch, so the way Harry just continues to rub at it after the pinch should ache, but maybe that’s exactly why his jaw slacks, eyes fluttering.

“Love how reactive you are. Wanna spend a whole day touching you everywhere and finding which spots make you the loudest.”

“Please,” Louis moans, at the idea or the fact that both of their orgasms are quickly approaching, he isn’t sure.

“Love that, too. How you beg for it. Even when I’m already giving it to you.” He tightens his hold on the boy’s wrist, rhythm going a bit erratic.

“Pleasepleaseplease, _please_ ‘arry, I’m—“ he shakes through his orgasm, and Harry feels the pleasure zipping through him like a wildfire, and can’t help but follow immediately. He presses into Louis’ neck as he shakes through the aftershocks, heart thrumming and magic thrumming even harder.

“I love you.” He says, feeling it all the way into his bones. The three words don’t feel like enough. He wants so much. So much more than he can have. He wants forever. Not just this life, but the next. The next three. The next ten. The next thousand. No amount of time will be enough.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck, scratching at the hair there as if he’s even thinking about lifting away.

“Hmm.” He replies, nosing up to his hair, loving the way he smells. The way he sounds. Everything.

“Look, darling.” Louis whispers, awe flickering through him. Harry lifts his head, and smiles. His boy is beautiful, eyes glazed over and shining. Pretty lights fall on his skin, defining his cheekbones. He’s looking up, past Harry’s head.

“What is it?” Harry follows his eyes, and his breath catches. He rolls off of him, so then they’re both lying on their backs. Across the sky above them, blue and green lights ribbon together. Northern lights. He’s never seen them in real life, and as far as he knows, little Doncaster isn’t exactly where they usually pop up.

“Did I do that?” He asks, eyes wide. They’re beautiful. Turning his head to look back to Louis, he finds something even more beautiful.

“Of course you did.” The boy replies, then he laughs breathlessly, reaching for him. Harry takes his hand, watches the blue and green fall over his face.

“Guess it’s not just rain you make me cause.”

Louis finally looks away from the sky to him, pulls him in for a kiss. He still vaguely tastes like beer. Everything tastes better on his tongue.

“I love you too.” He says, belated but just as wonderful. Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

They lie there on the roof together for a long time, hands connected. Louis watches the sky, and Harry watches Louis.


	4. the mess

“Harry, I’m taking Charlotte to her piano lessons. Do you mind keeping the girls company?” Mark grabs his keys from the hook, looking hopeful. The twins have been mostly holed up in their room since Harry arrived. Teenagers wanting independence, most likely. He wasn’t deaf to the loud fight they’d had with Mark the day before, all because he didn’t want them to go to their friend’s house in miniskirts.

“Of course! Have a good time.” Harry sets his phone down, standing up from the couch. He heads into the kitchen, puts together some tea. It’s nearly nine, so Louis should wake up soon. They’d been on the roof for a while, so Harry’s let him sleep in.

Carrying two mugs and two floating in the air behind him, he walks down the hallway, guest bedroom door opening as he wills it to. He steps into the room and one of the floating mugs settles onto the bedside table. He leans over the bed, pressing a kiss to Louis’ forehead. The boy hums, eyes fluttering.

“Brought you tea. It’s almost nine so you should wake up.”

“Mm, best boyfriend. Come cuddle. Cold.” Louis whines, voice beautifully raspy from sleep.

“Would love to, but I gotta go get on your moody sisters’ good side. Here,” he levitates a mug and lies the freed hand on the duvet above him, spreads some warmth through it, “better?”

“Best.” Louis murmurs, smiling sleepily, shivering as the cold leaves him.

“Don’t fall back asleep or the tea will go to waste.” Harry smiles at the way Louis lifts his head immediately, never one to let a warm drink chill.

Harry steps back out of the room, continues on down to the end of the hall, two mugs in one hand and one in the other. Can’t exactly have them floating around the girls. He taps gently on the light lilac door.

“Come in!” The twins say. Harry opens the door and steps inside, shutting it back with his foot.

“Hello, girls. I brought tea.”

They give him matching polite smiles, but don’t offer up much to make conversation. Harry doesn’t let it break his stride, stepping into the room and setting the teas at their pretty vanity. Daisy sits on her bed, typing at a laptop, and Phoebe is propped on a stool dotting mascara onto her eyelashes.

“So..I was hoping you two could help me out,” he takes a sip of his own tea, eyeing the various makeup and hair accessories sat on their desks, “tonight your brother is introducing me to his mates, and I’ve always been terrible at attempting to get my hair tamed..”

The girls look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“We’re pretty good at braids.” Phoebe offers. Harry grins, and settles down into a pretty pink beanbag.

-

“And Ryan did it over _text_?” Harry asks. Daisy nods, pillow held tightly to her chest, forlorn expression over her face.

“Yeah, and dad just wouldn’t get it. Last time we tried to talk to him about boys he told us we’re too young to be dating.” Phoebe rolls her eyes, gently brushing a deep red onto Harry’s pointer fingernail.

“Aren’t you, like, sixteen?”

“Yeah.” They answer in unison.

“Some people find their soulmates at that age. You’re old enough now to make the right decisions. You know what isn’t the right decision? Going back to Ryan.”

“It’s not?” Daisy asks, eyes wide and glossy.

“Definitely not. He spent all year talking to Patti behind your back, you think he will treat you with the respect you deserve? There’s no rush. True love will find you when it’s meant to.”

“How do you know?” Phoebe asks, brush suspended over the bottle of nail varnish, eyes just as wide as her sister’s.

“A while ago, I had felt a lot like you do right now. My ex boyfriend, he found out that I could..sing. And he didn’t like that about me, so he left me alone. I cried for weeks. I could hardly study, let alone even think about getting over him.”

“Did you get him back?” Daisy asks.

“No. My best mate dragged me out of my room when I’d rather have done anything else, and we went to a bar. I didn’t even want to go. I nearly didn’t, actually. I was even going to leave early, then I ran into the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.”

“Ew, it’s Louis, innit?”

“Yes, it was Louis,” Harry laughs, “the point is, love was the very last thing I was looking for that night. I thought I would never find it. My ex made me believe it wasn’t real. I didn’t meet my true love until I was 26, don’t waste time on boys like Ryan.”

Daisy smiles, wiping at her tears.

“That’s lovely, Harry. But how do you know he’s your true love?”

The door opens, and speak of the devil, Louis sticks his head in. He smiles confusedly at the scene. Harry in a beanbag, hair in tight double braids, nails nearly fully painted.

“You just know.” Harry says, heart fluttering when Louis steps into the room. He’s wearing Harry’s jumper, and black looks far too good on him, neckline low and swooping, showing off the nice love bite he was given above his collarbone last night.

“I hate to interrupt, but I can’t help but notice you’re making all me sisters cry, Harold.” Louis says, stepping into the room cautiously.

“I’m sorry. I really don’t mean to.”

“It’s not his fault, Lou, bugger off!” Daisy stands up, giggling through her tears as she pushes at Louis to leave.

“Hey! I’m taking him in an hour! Don’t show him embarrassing photos of me!” Louis cries out as Daisy shuts the door. The three of them giggle, settling back into their spots.

“Harry, when you say you just know, is it like..your heart hurts when you think about being apart? And when you see him you just want to keep seeing him all the time?”

Harry blinks, turning to Phoebe with wide eyes. She finishes up his thumb and screws the top back on the varnish. Daisy steps in, opening up a clear top coat.

“Tell me everything.” He says, and Phoebe flushes, fiddling with her fingers.

“We met in my English class..”

-

“There’s no need to be nervous. They’re going to love you.” Louis reaches over, patting his thigh.

“This isn’t fathers and sisters, Louis. I’m..kinda weird, y’know.”

“Everyone’s kinda weird. For the record, I think the braids are rather pretty. Hey, stop that.” Louis abruptly pulls over onto the shoulder of the road, turning and taking his hands. Harry looks down, finding he’s anxiously picked a bit of the red varnish from his pinky nail.

“Niall’s sort of my only friend around my age, but he’s friends with everyone. I don’t know how to go about this. Do I be charming? Or funny? I don’t—“

“Just be yourself, Harry. I’m not introducing you as another friend for the group or something. They’re going to love you because I love you. Fuckin’ hell, these guys are the first people I came out to, they’re not expecting arm wrestling and, I dunno, bird talk?”

“Bird talk?” Harry laughs, shoulders shaking. Louis’ quick to follow, grin wide.

“I was a drama nerd in school, H. When I first kissed a boy I told Oli all about it. He gave me advice, then told me about his girlfriend. It’s just how we work. Now stop picking your varnish off, it matches your shirt.” He pokes at one of the embroidered roses on Harry’s jumper, red and indeed matching.

“You really think they’ll like me?” Harry asks. Louis smiles, throwing the car in drive and continuing on the road.

“Yes. Besides, I’ve already told them about you. They may already like you.”

“What!” Harry squawks, turning full-bodily in his seat to level him with a look.

“There may or may not be a group message chat between us. We talk about everything.”

“What have you told them?!”

“Um..everything but the magic, obviously.”

“Louis!”

“Are you saying you don’t talk to Niall about me?” Louis raises an eyebrow, knowingly smirking. Harry crosses his arms, huffing in his seat.

“That’s—“

“Not different, Haz. Now, you ready?” Louis pulls off into a dark parking lot. With the sun having just set, it’s hard to tell where they are. It seems to just be some field.

“Where are we?”

“The lads aren’t here yet. Figured we’ll need some warm up with your pigeon toes. Speaking of,” he reaches into the backseat, brandishing Harry’s old converse trainers, “let’s not ruin your Saint Laurent’s.”

Harry smiles, confused, but reaches down, unzipping his ankle boots and pulling on the converse. He hasn’t worn them in quite a while, usually just when he knows he’s going to get dirty. Perhaps that’s the plan.

Louis climbs out of the car and circles around to his door, opening it up with a mischievous grin.

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.”

“Where, exactly?” Harry asks, stepping out into the cool air. Louis offers a hand, and he takes it without hesitation, even as his stomach flutters nervously.

He’s led into the dark field, and they walk further and further away from the park, along a fence and to what seems to be an electrical box.

“Wha—Lou!” Harry pulls him back before he can touch it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you forget what happened the last time you touched one of these? Cause I do.”

“Sure. You’ll save me again, right?” Louis doesn’t wait for an answer, grinning manically and pulling the switch. All at once, lights turn on all around the field. A football pitch, to be exact.

“Is this legal?” Harry asks as Louis hops the fence in one easy practiced move.

“Mostly. You saying you don’t fancy a game?” He reaches into a wooden box on the other side of the fence, and reveals a football.

With a laugh, Harry hops the fence right after him, his magic doing most of the work to get all of his limbs up and over. Louis seems to know that’s what the case is, smirking as he stretches a leg behind himself.

“You know I’m shit at it, right?”

“Yes, I remember your fumbling around in London. That’s why we came early. Warm up, remember?” His joggers pull over his thighs rather unfairly as he stretches, and Harry tries very hard not to stare too blatantly. It’s enough to _know_ Louis’ a little sporty shit, but he’s going to have to see him in action and not ravish him in the middle of a pitch while his friends are on their way?

Maybe one day he’ll be able to hide his want better. Today is not one of those days.

“Eyes up here, Styles,” Louis says, tucking the ball under his arm with a knowing smirk, “now. One vers’ one, yeah? And no cheating.”

“I don’t cheat!” Harry gawks, following him to centre field.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your lack of tripping over yourself as soon as a camera is even remotely near you. No magic.” He points sternly, and Harry flushes. He had hoped the boy didn’t notice that, actually. He’s more of a ‘two left feet’ sort of lad, limbs having grown far longer than anticipated, too quickly for him to get adjusted to. He’s gotten a little better at keeping himself upright.

Obviously not in any natural way, but he’s not ashamed. Surely without his magic, he’d have to deal with video evidence of him falling over himself every damn performance.

“Even if I can use it to help us both?”

“Even then. Ready?” He drops the ball to the grass below them and raises an eyebrow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Harry says, exhaling a bit of a huff. Louis grins, and the game starts.

As it turns out, Louis is really fucking fast. Harry works out a bit, sure, but he’s not coordinated enough to properly play. After the boy collects a few points, he then just straight up kicks the ball to him with a grin.

“Try not to just follow the ball around. There’s no way you’ll get it from me, so anticipate my next move instead, figure out where to position yourself to stop me from scoring.”

Harry taps at the ball a bit with his foot, then kicks it back.

“Why’re you giving your opponent tips?” He asks. Louis laughs, and they continue to kick it back and forth, a lot like that day outside of the London stadium.

“Because when the boys get here you’ll be on my team.” Louis sighs like this is a great disappointment to him. It probably is. Harry peeks over to the park, still just holding their car, so when he kicks the ball next, it flies over Louis’ head and into the goal, many metres away, especially with how lightly he’d kicked it.

Louis crosses his arms, levelling him with a look.

“Are you throwing a tantrum, Harold?”

“Maybe I’ve just been going easy on you and I’m an excellent footballer.” He should probably be offended at the way Louis laughs, hand clutching his stomach and head thrown back, but it’s such a pretty sight that he forgets to be.

“If you can beat me to that ball without magic maybe I’ll believe you.” Louis raises an eyebrow, gives him a solid five second head start, and still beats him there. Because of the downpour from the day before, the pitch is a bit slippery, muddy and not meant for actual games. Harry guesses it’s been put together by residents of the town, probably.

To hide the fact that he’s slower, he tackles the boy, magic ensuring neither of them get hurt as they fly into a heap of limbs. They’re gross immediately, mud seeping into their shirts and grass staining their shoes as Louis tries his hardest to wrestle him, but Harry grins and holds him down, straddling his waist and leaning in to lick his cheek like a dog.

“Stop cheating! We both know you can’t take me down otherwise!” Louis shrieks, but he’s giggling, shrill and just incredible. Harry remembers Lottie’s memory, the carefree joy quite similar to the feeling Louis is emitting right now.

He obeys, though, blocking his magic from giving him too much strength, and immediately Louis kicks out, gets him in the thigh. Harry groans, rolling off of him onto his back, definitely far more dramatic than necessary.

“Piss off, we both know that didn’t hurt.” Louis laughs, and then he’s on top, yanking a bit of grass from the pitch below them and dropping the blades into Harry’s braids, and then he reaches back, slaps his thigh where he’s already been kicked. It still doesn’t really hurt, but Harry starfishes with a shout.

“Red card! Red card!” He exclaims, shaking probably more like an epileptic than someone who’s hurt, but Louis is having a hard time stopping his laughter, so it’s quite worth it.

“You’re not a ref. God, if you stop wriggling maybe I’ll make it better.”

It should probably be embarrassing the way Harry immediately stills, but Louis’ grin is blinding as he shifts up, straddling his waist more than his hips, knees digging into the mud below as he leans over him, one hand in the grass and the other on his chest.

Then they’re kissing. In the middle of the night on a footie pitch, mud soaking into their clothes while anyone could be driving by and see them from the freeway.

Harry lets his jaw slack as Louis licks into his mouth, desperately trying to ignore the clouds he knows are forming above them. Control. He can’t forget control. Hands probably smearing mud over Louis’ skin as he slides them up his waist, he focus on his necklace, heavy on his chest.

“Don’t let it rain and fuck the pitch even more.” Louis says the moment he pulls back, like he just knows. Harry laughs, glancing up past his pretty fringe and finding there are indeed clouds mostly hiding the stars, but there’s no rainfall. No lightning in sight.

“I’m getting better at controlling it.” He says distractingly. The bright spotlights over them should definitely pale their skin and give a sickly sheen.

Instead, it lights up the edges of Louis’ hair, highlights his defined cheekbones, reflects off his now wet lips. He’s so fucking beautiful and Harry still isn’t over it. Isn’t even close to being used to it. Doesn’t think he ever will. They’ll be married and in their 70s and he’ll still be astonished that someone can be so attractive. He’s sure of it.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Harry murmurs, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu. Last time Louis said that they skipped out on dinner and fucked in the hotel instead.

“Like you wanna drop down on one knee right now.” He says, cheeks slightly flushing. It’s strangely accurate.

“I was just thinking about us growing old together, funnily enough.”

“I think it’s a soulmate thing. Always being on the same wavelength.” Louis looks down between them, fidgeting with Harry’s jumper like the conversation makes him shy. Maybe it does. The spotlights make his eyelashes look longer, sending spiky shadows over his cheeks.

“Wish you could see yourself right now.” Harry sighs, eyes probably stupid and heart shaped like a cartoon. Louis’ nose scrunches and he pushes at Harry’s cheek with an adorable chuckle.

“You’re only with me for m’ looks. Gonna leave me when I start getting wrinkly, aren’t you?”

“Did you not just hear me mention daydreaming about us being old? You’re gonna be hot your whole life.”

“You, on the other hand, better enjoy that head of hair before you start balding. I give it maybe five more years like that.” Louis jokes to hide the disbelief swimming through him with every new compliment, tapping at Harry’s hairline.

“I’m serious, Lou. You’re..kind of the sun. Don’t you notice how you light up every room you walk into?” He catches Louis’ tapping fingers, and the boy huffs like he’s annoyed, bowing his head into Harry’s neck to hide his smile, wriggling a bit.

“Stop reading me. I’m confident when I need to be, would you rather me be an egotistical arsehole?”

_I know you’ve never loved the crinkles by your eyes when you smile_.

Harry lifts up his head, fitting their lips back together as the soft guitar melody ribbons through his head, more lyrics about loving the things he hates drifting along the notes, feeling warm and happy in the same way Louis is kissing him right now.

He never wants it to end.

_it’s you, oh it’s you. It’s you, they add up to—_

“Oi! No fucking on the pitch!”

Louis lifts away, and they both twist to look to the voice. Three males are jogging their way onto the field. Louis’ mates.

_Louis_ ’ _mates_.

Oh god. This has to be the rudest first impression Harry’s ever left. He is thoroughly prepared to panic, until Louis points a middle finger at the boys and gives him one last kiss, smiling through the whole thing.

They’re both a bit dazed when Louis finally stands, helping him up. There’s mud and grass all over their clothes, but his friends don’t seem to care, nearly shouting as they approach, a shorter ginger kid throwing arms around Louis as a brunet does the same to Harry.

“Oh, hello.” Harry says, hugging back despite his shock, because he rather likes hugs, even if they’re unexpected. Then they switch out, the other two reaching in and giving them hugs next. They seem to be a touchy group, and they’re all talking to each other like madman, accents thick and excited.

“Okay, okay,” Louis laughs, reaching over to Harry’s belt loop, tugging him closer once everyone’s shared a cuddle, “this is Oli, Luke, and Stan. We’ve all known each other since..forever, really. Boys, this is my Harry.”

“Hello. Sorry we’re not as presentable as we should be. It’s lovely to meet you.” Harry says politely, heart thrumming with the way Louis introduced him. His. It’s possessive..and just plainly hot.

“Wow, he _is_ posh.” The tall attractive one, Luke, says. They all laugh like it’s been discussed, and Harry flushes, poking the toe of his trainer into the grass below.

“Innit?” Louis laughs, and it would probably feel like he’s being made fun of, except for the way the boy reaches up to him, wiping a bit of mud from his chin with a fond expression. When Harry looks to him, he’s all crinkly-eyed like he’s proud of it, and it’s infectious.

“Okay. No goalies. One ref. Who’s up for it?” Louis claps his hands together, voice going into some funny announcer act.

Then they’re fighting over teams, and as the minutes pass, Harry feels more and more at ease. Nobody’s looking at him strangely. Nobody here is fake, either. Starstruck or trying too hard around Louis, 1/4th of One Direction. He’s not a megastar here. He’s silly and spiralling so fast into nearly incoherently Northern it’s almost dizzying. Here with his childhood mates, he’s just Louis. The same way he was when Harry first met him.

Harry volunteers for first ref, and then the argument changes to who’s with who. He gives it two games before he’s charmed his way into all their hearts.

It’s a goal he doesn’t plan to fail.

-

“What was the last two? 06?”

“07.” Harry corrects, peeking at each of their phones one by one to make sure the numbers were put in correctly.

“Cheers, Harry. Don’t let Lou get in your contacts. I’m willing to bet he’ll delete us to keep you all to himself.” Oli wriggles his eyebrows.

“Oi, stop trying to send my boy nudes.” Louis squawks, pulling Harry away by his hip.

“Don’t forget the hidden photo feature, Styles!” Stan calls. Harry blows them kisses as he’s drug back to the car. He’s giggling in a way that’s hard to hold back. Louis’ mates are hilarious, and they’re all so alike, bouncing off each other with Louis in a way that made him feel like he’ll never be able to fit.

And yet, he’s leaving having exchanged numbers and promises to meet up again when the tour is over.

“Can you go one day without stealing the hearts of people in my circle?” Louis sighs exasperatedly, toeing off his muddy vans when they get to the car, reaching down and desperately trying to get the mud off so they don’t ruin the nice leather seats once they get in.

“It’s _our_ circle, now. Just accept it.” Harry’s joking, mostly, but Louis pauses a bit and smiles at him.

“I suppose you’re right. I feel like as someone who’s always enjoyed independence, I should be annoyed that we’re going to end up sharing everything.”

“Everything, huh?”

“Well, yeah. Beds. Houses. Clothes.” Louis continues to wipe mud from himself, but Harry’s impatient and as soon as the boys pull back out into the freeway, he waves his hand. The mud flies from their clothing and hair, lands in a neat pile in the grass nearby. It looks like an ant mound.

“Convenient..wait,” Louis looks back to him and his eyebrows furrow, “are you?” He trails off and steps closer, eyes raking over him.

“Am I what?” Harry asks, desperately trying to ignore the way his magic is scurrying through him like mice in a maze.

“Are you getting hot from fucking domestic talk?” Louis asks, reaching out to tuck his fingers into Harry’s waistband and pull him closer. He goes, glad he can’t see himself right now, because he’s sure his pupils are blown.

“No. That’d be quite strange.” He says, but it’s weak. They both know it’s weak.

“We’re gonna share everything,” Louis says slowly, circles his arms around his neck and smirking, “will end up having to share a closet because we forget who’s clothes are who’s. Going to have to have a joint bank account so when we buy furniture for the house it’s in _our_ name.”

Harry exhales shakily and fits his hands on the boy’s hips, pressing him against the car.

“Yeah? We’re going to have our own place?” He asks, nosing up Louis’ jaw, heart fluttering.

“Mhm. Gonna spend the next few months of tour looking at listings. Go home to London in four months and decorate it ourselves. And by ourselves I mean make you do all the work while I supervise.”

“Of course.” Harry laughs, heart aching for it. He can picture it so well, too. Them in February at the end of the world tour. Just flown home from the last show in Melbourne. Arguing over whether a couch should go to the left or the right of the fireplace. Barely getting the basics down in each room before they’re christening it all. In the most un-holy of ways.

“Then after we’re settled we’ll sit in our studio room and write together. Wake up every day next to each other. You’ll do all the chores.”

“Cook all the meals, too.” Harry sighs, pressing a kiss to his pretty throat.

“That, yes. You’ll cook and clean and I’ll let you fuck me whenever you want.”

“I’ll be a proper housewife.”

“Yeah, and then when we have babies and it’ll be loud all the time. We’re gonna argue so much over nursery themes and names and then you’ll have all of us to clean up after. They’ll all be like me, messy and dramatic.”

Harry’s breathing goes stuttery, and he whines, lifting his head to kiss him, physically unable to stop himself much longer.

“Please,” he gasps against Louis’ lips, “I want it all.”

“I’ll give you all of it. God, let’s get in the car. Harry—“ Louis doesn’t have to ask twice. Harry scrambles for the backdoor handle, yanking it open and pressing the boy into the backseat, climbing on top of him in a way that would probably be awkward if he weren’t in such a spacious seat. Thank god for expensive rentals.

He tries to keep kissing him, but then Louis reaches between them and cups him over his jeans. He’s so hard he’s leaking a bit.

“Fuckin’ hell. The domestics really gets ya going, eh?” Louis asks, voice breathy in awe.

“Yeah. Fuck. Don’t make promises about our future unless you really want—“

“Hey, of course I want it. I want the house and the kids and the growing old together. You know I do,” he unzips Harry’s jeans, eyes flickering to meet his, “I love it too. I’ll help out, I won’t be completely useless. Gonna let you teach me to cook so I can fix the kids up meals while I’m off tour and you’re on your own. I’ll do chores, too. I’ll complain the whole time about the dishwasher being incompetent, so much you’ll have to stick it in my mouth so I’ll shut up.”

He circles his fingers around Harry’s cock, giving him a soft squeeze so he knows exactly what ‘it’ they’re talking about.

“Fuck. We’ll have so many kids it’ll be impossible to get off. Always coming in the bedroom to ask for a glass of milk.” Harry gasps. 

“Bet if I could get pregnant I’d never be empty.” Louis says, pupils blown, eyes between them at his hand pulling Harry off. It’s probably weird, how much this is working. Talking about regular everyday things people experience. Kids and fucking household chores.

They’ve never claimed to be ‘normal’, anyway.

“I’m gonna knock you up every chance I get. Have a million little blue eyed magic babies.” Harry gasps, and his cock twitches when Louis whines, reaching down and yanking his jumper up, then shoving his joggers down. Not to free his cock, as it turns out. Just to expose his stomach, flat and unfairly empty. No babies growing inside.

He doesn’t need to say a word. Harry shifts upward, takes a hold of his dick and presses it to Louis’ belly. He’s leaking a bit, but it’s not exactly wet.

In a blink of his eye, there’s lube spread on his soft skin. He stares down with wide eyes at the way his cock slides against his belly, slick, his ab muscles jumping with every thrust.

“M’ fuckin’ your belly.” Harry says. Outside, lightning cracks across the sky. Neither of them stop to notice.

“Gonna give me a baby?” Louis asks, and it should be the weirdest dirty talk they’ve ever had. Should be, anyway.

“Yeah, f-fuck.” Harry’s thrusts go a bit erratic as he cups his hand over the top of his dick, so then there’s friction on both sides. It’s so damn good.

“Bet we’ll have twins, too, since it runs in the family. Two babies at once. When they wake us up at four AM we’ll both have to go. Get two rocking chairs in the nursery so we can nurse them at the same time.” He keeps going, more and more empty promises, because of course he can’t actually get pregnant, but Harry’s too busy coming on his belly to really think about it. There’s only one thing he _can_ think about, and it’s the imagery of it. Louis with a swell of a belly under his shirt, wobbling as he’s so full of Harry’s babies, sending him to the shop at midnight when he’s craving pickles and chocolate. Skin stretching to accommodate the baby, cheeks glowing in a way only a pregnancy can give.

He feels like he comes for years, and as soon as the spots in his vision clear enough to see his boy, he immediately feels an itch to please him. To give him anything. Everything.

He shakes down until his arse is pressed against the car door in a way that’s probably uncomfortable, but he doesn’t really care, yanking Louis’ joggers down a bit more until his cock is freed, thick and pink and mouth-watering.

“Oh, oh fuck—“ Louis moans as Harry wraps his lips around him, tongue pressed up flat against the underside, spit dribbling down out of his open mouth but only making it wetter. Nicer for him. He takes him in and in and in until there’s short curly hairs tickling at his nose.

Louis bucks up in a way that he can’t seem to control.

“Fuck, sorry, s-sorry,” he reaches down and wraps a hand around one of his braids, pulling at it like he’s trying to get him to lift away, but Harry only lets himself up just enough to take another breath, then he sinks down again, until he’s swallowing around him and his eyes are tearing up from the ache of it against his throat.

Thank god for his magic, else he’d be a choking mess.

“So good, why’re you so good at that, s-shit.” Louis is a bit of a mess, himself, shaking under him and moaning like he’s never been blown before.

Harry reaches up to Louis’ hand still wrapped around his braid, and takes his wrist, squeezes once, just tight enough to be on the side of painful.

Within seconds, Louis’ eyes flutter closed and he comes, toes cracking as they curl in his socks.

“Fuck..so that just happened.” He breathes, not batting an eye at the way his lube and come covered belly becomes dry without a single touch. Harry grins, tucking him back in his joggers and crawling back over him to kiss his pretty little collarbones.

“Can’t believe how compatible our weird kinks are.” Harry replies, voice raspy and absolutely wrecked. He doesn’t miss Louis’ responding shiver.

“Can’t believe we tried to get me pregnant.” Louis replies, and then they’re laughing, smiles wide and silly, cramped together in the backseat of a rental, parked in a deserted lot in Louis’ hometown.

Every night, Harry’s convinced nothing could top a day with him. Nothing could be better than that perfect day with the love of his life. Until the next day, when he somehow falls even deeper for him. Finds out something new. Notices a hidden freckle he hadn’t yet. Discovers a kink he didn’t know he had.

Every day with Louis is the best day of his life.

-

“Wake up, love.”

Harry snuffles, turning towards the fingers carding through his hair. It’s rather wavy instead of his usual knotted curls. The braids had tamed it a bit, and Louis’ had a hard time keeping his hands away from his locks ever since they’d gotten home last night and he’d shaken out the braids.

“Time is it?”

“Eight. I know we said we’d sleep until noon to make up for how little we’ll get tomorrow, but I’m feeling inspired.”

Harry opens his eyes, finding Louis’ wearing fucking _glasses_ , perched cutely on his nose. He’s sat up, and there’s papers spread out all over the bed, crumbled up sheets and pencil shavings and an iPad opened to a piano app.

“Mm, you wear glasses?”

“Only really need them if I’m reading a lot,” there’s the distant sound of a kettle whistling downstairs, “I’m bringing up tea. Help me write this song. We need something to show Daniel so they don’t think you’re a groupie.”

He drops a notebook into Harry’s lap and slides out of the bed, bounding out of the room like a pretty gazelle. Harry smiles and reads over the handful of lyrics Louis’ scribbled out in his curvy handwriting, getting his teeth brushed and his bladder empty without even climbing out of the bed.

He’s got a verse and half a chorus written, so Harry picks up one of the various pencils thrown on the bed and sits back against the headboard, continuing the lyrics, hoping he’s getting the message of the song correct.

‘And if you like midnight driving with the windows down, and if you like going places we can’t even pronounce, if you like to do whatever you’ve been dreaming about, then baby, you’re perfect’ he finishes off the chorus, intending only to write in some ideas for the rest of the song, leave it up to Louis to decide how to rest goes.

Instead, seven minutes later when the boy steps into the room with two cuppas, he’s got the entire rest of the song written, and he’s revising, sticking commas in spots as he imagines how the the rhythm could go.

“Figured you’d do that.” Louis says, grinning when he climbs back into the bed and sees the whole notebook page filled with lyrics now.

“Sorry. It just sort of..happened.” Harry says sheepishly, handing the notebook to him so he can read it over.

“Don’t apologise. If I had more to add, I would’ve written it. Oh, I like how you changed it to ’ _we’re_ perfect’ in the bridge.” He’s nothing but smiles as he reads over the lyrics. Harry has to touch him, so he does, settling a hand on his thigh, bare with his little sleep shorts on.

There’s pride zipping through him. Content. Joy. Awe. He likes the song, thankfully. Doesn’t hate Harry’s additions to it. The way he turned it into sort of a conversation. While Louis had started off the song with ‘I’m perfect’, Harry turned it around in the second half of the chorus. Responding to his lyrics with the ‘you’re perfect’. Then in the bridge, bringing them together with ‘we’re perfect’.

“Do you have a melody in mind?” Harry asks, taking a gulp of his tea as he beckons his guitar, leaning up against the wardrobe.

Louis starts to hum, tapping his leg to set the rhythm, eyes on the lyrics as he does. Harry listens for a good handful of bars, and then he starts to strum, playing around with different chords until he finds one he feels fits.

“But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms, and if you like having secret little rendezvous.” Louis starts to sing, voice the stunning tenor Harry’s heard at every gig so far, but it’s a lot different now. Acoustic. Just the two of them. He sounds like an angel.

“If you like to do the things you know that we shouldn’t do, then baby I’m perfect. Baby I’m perfect for you.” Harry joins in, an octave lower to harmonise.

They continue on, so naturally finding their notes to sing as they go, voices combining in the best way. They don’t fumble even once, going through key changes and the entire rest of the song as if they’ve sung it a million times before and haven’t only just thought it up.

“So let’s start right now.” Harry finishes out as Louis exhales in a shaky way, eyes wide when they meet his.

“We go rather good together.”

“Well, yeah. Bass and tenor, we’re opposites so it’s easy to harmonise.” Harry says, plucking one of the strings on the guitar as he adjusts the tuning just ever so slightly. It must’ve been bumped during the drive, changing the note in such a subtle way that would probably be unnoticeable to the untrained ear.

“I don’t just mean our voices. I mean the fact that we’ve just finished this draft in about ten minutes without much effort. It feels easy in a way it never has before. I don’t think I’ve woken up with the itch to write in years now.”

Harry smiles, knocking their knees together and keeping it there, dimples digging into his cheeks.

“I love you.” He says, instead of the cocky ‘guess you’ve found a muse’ he was actually going to say.

Louis smiles, touching his pencil to the notebook and making a note in the margin about chord progressions.

“I love you,” he responds just the same, then reaches for his phone, navigates to the voice recording app, “now, let’s record a demo for Julian. This time, I’ll solo verse one. You solo the bridge, and when you sing ‘oh yeah’ in the first line, take it lower instead of an octave higher. Got it?”

He’s rather incredible at this thing. Harry grins, strums the guitar to make sure it’s perfectly tuned.

“Ready.” He says, and Louis taps record.

“Song one: Perfect. Lyrics and demo by Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson.” Louis says, then motions for him to start, and so he does.

By noon, they’ve downed half of the tea in the house, and have four full demos ready to green light with Julian in the studio.

It’s safe to say Louis is right. They work well together. Professionally, not just emotionally and romantically. In every way, it seems. Almost as if they’re, well..perfect.

-

They land in St. Louis, Missouri at two PM the next day. It’s Halloween, and it’s hard to believe October is 10 hours away from being over. At the beginning of this month, he was studying for midterms and still crying himself to sleep over Ben. He had only 40 Instagram followers.

Harry’s bubbling with excitement. Not just because he’s never been to the states, and his first city visited has ‘Louis’ in it. He’s excited for everything.

To start writing songs with the whole band, putting his name out there in the ‘writers’ section of the biggest band in the world’s next album. To get his own bunk on the surprisingly comfortable and roomie tour bus. To ride along and see the sights in a country he’s always wanted to visit. To watch his boyfriend rock his gigs hundreds of times over all around the world. To meet people and get opportunities he never would’ve gotten otherwise.

And he gets to do it all with Louis. Undoubtedly the love of his life. Undoubtedly the person he intends to spend the rest of his life with.

He’ll be surprised if they aren’t engaged by the end of this tour.

“Missouri. We’re almost right smack in the middle of the country. I can’t believe we’re an entire ocean away from home.” Harry’s babbling a bit, eyes wide out of the huge windows of the tour bus, but Louis is smiling, sat next to him on the built in couch, watching him watch the buildings pass by. He can’t wait to catch a glimpse of the gateway arch.

“Pretty sure the centre of the country is Kansas, H.” Louis says, touching at the top of his wrist, fingers petting him absentmindedly. He does that a lot, in that same spot. Harry has that urge to get a tattoo once again.

“That’s why I said _almost_.” He replies, turning his hand under Louis’ so then the boy’s touching his inner wrist instead. Only this way, he can touch him right back.

“What do you feel?” The boy asks, voice hardly above a whisper, conscious of the rest of the boys spread across the bus, their driver Betty just two metres away in the front seat. He’s never asked before, and it shows in the nervousness that bubbles up immediately upon asking.

“Nerves, freshest now that you’ve asked. Excitement for the tour. Fatigue from the jet-lag. Fond. Anticipation. Hunger. Something warm and blurry that can only be love. It’s never clear, love, since we cannot truly explain it.” He swallows thickly, and stops. He doesn’t want to dig deeper. Doesn’t want to show that he can feel it all if he focuses on it. Can feel every emotion he has, even the ones he’s unconsciously pushing aside.

The darkness that still lingers in him.

“What is it like? Like, do you read it like words? Or hear it like my thoughts?”

“No, I just feel it, right here in my hand. It’s like..like if you had a heartache from a breakup, I would feel that heartache in my hand. If I want to, I can pull it further, up my arm and into myself, so then I feel it fully.”

“Can you take it away? Out of me?”

“If I wanted to, but I would never do that. I could never change you like that.”

“So when we first shook hands in that bar, you felt what I was feeling just here?” He brushes circles over Harry’s palm with his thumb, eyes genuinely curious.

“No, actually. I felt it everywhere. Usually, I like to block it when meeting people, pretend I’m normal, left to guess how they’re feeling like a regular person. I’ve never been able to block it with you.”

“Is it a soulmate thing?”

“Not exactly. It’s a you thing, really. Your whole family is that way, actually. You all feel in a very loud and sporadic way, even though it doesn’t show on the outside. You seemed so casual in that bar, and we shook hands and it was hard to breathe for the next few hours, really. It took me longer than usual to just focus on one emotion so the rest weren’t suffocating me.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds awful.” Louis takes his hand away at once, but Harry grabs him back up, pressing both palms to his hand, showing just how fine it is.

“Don’t do that. It hasn’t been overwhelming like that since the first day or so. Please don’t ever pull away.”

“I hate the thought of feeling sad one day and you not being able to cuddle me without feeling it too.”

“You’re my soulmate, Lou. I’m going to feel it either way. I get a tingle in my fingers every time you get hurt. I get an actual physical ache every time we’re apart for longer than a few hours. I don’t want to not feel it. Promise me you won’t ever distance yourself. Not when your sad or angry or anything you don’t want me to feel.”

“Harry,” Louis sucks in a breath, eyebrows furrowed.

“Promise me. I want to be the person you come to when you’re feeling anything at all. Good or bad.”

“Okay—“

“Promise, baby.”

“I promise.” Louis tilts his head onto the cushioned back of the couch, eyes a tad glossy and hand still enveloped in his. He can feel the apprehension, but mostly he feels the trust. The acceptance. Louis doesn’t make empty promises, and it’s quite lovely.

“It’s Halloween. Do you usually celebrate?” Harry asks, quite eager to lift the mood.

“We usually go to a party wherever we are. Get drunk and enjoy the bit of anonymity costumes provide. I think Nic said something earlier about knowing a guy here who’s throwing one.” Louis smiles, reaching up with his free hand to touch Harry’s cross. He seems to enjoy that, seeing Harry wear the jewellery he gifted him.

“Wanna plan a couples costume then?”

“I’m sure there’s a Halloween shop somewhere in this city.” Louis leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, standing up and walking to the front, presumably to talk to Betty about making a stop. They technically don’t need to be at the stadium for an hour.

-

They don’t exactly get up in disguises, but both Paul and Alberto escort the two of them inside. Apparently the rest of the boys already have costumes. They’d probably been preparing for the holiday for a bit now.

Harry and Louis might have been a little distracted.

“I am _not_ going to wear that.” Louis’ sifting through a rack of hanging masks, and Harry holds the couples avocado costume with a pout.

“It’s two halves of one whole. It’s cute!”

“Avocados are fuckin’ gross.” Louis narrows his eyes like he dares him to disagree.

“What?! Avocados are delicious! They’re good for you and they’re so versatile.”

“You’re going to fit right in when we go to LA.” Louis says, going for mean but his smirk throws it a bit.

“You won’t be saying that once you try it on toast.” Harry points at him menacingly, like it’s a threat. Louis groans, running a hand down his face like avocados stress him out.

“You and Liam are disgusting. I’m never kissing your avocado mouth again.” He says dramatically. Alberto clears his throat behind him. Nobody’s really nearby, the aisle short and thin, people busy looking for their own costumes that they aren’t really paying them attention. Still, it only takes one person recording to fuck them up.

“Alberto, tell Louis avocados are delicious.” Harry says, turning to the broad man, who sighs exasperatedly, but gives a short nod. Louis frowns like it’s a huge betrayal.

“Paul?” Louis looks to the second man for help, but Paul is reaching into his pocket, taking out what looks like Louis’ business phone, holding up a finger as if he was even really engaged in the conversation.

“Fine, no avocados. What did you have in mind then?” Harry hooks the costume back on the other rack, steps in next to the boy to see the variety of masks he’s looking at.

“Haven’t really done this much, if I’m honest. Usually just throw some face paint on and call it a day..but if we wear masks we could get away with being more touchy.” Louis picks up a rather terrifying pennywise mask with a grin.

“You’re right. Let’s—“

“Louis, it’s Geoff.” Paul interrupts with a pitying expression. Both boys wince. If it’s Geoff calling, it’s probably about the Larry stuff. Louis had to have two Eleanor outings after the blue bandana thing. Three after the photos of them at the shoe shop were spread around, Louis’ hand on the small of his back at the register.

“Hello,” Louis crosses his arm over his chest, half hugging himself as he holds the phone to his ear, “we’ve been trying to keep it subtle..yes I know it’s important..I understand, but when?..can it wait until tomorrow? We were going to-..well, I’d probably be happier about it if you’d stop springing it on me just hours before..yeah, I fucking get it.”

Louis takes the phone from his ear and stabs the end call button. His hands are shaking when he hands the cell back to Paul.

“Do you have to go with Eleanor tonight?” Harry asks, merely guessing. Louis’ jaw is tight, and he angrily replaces the mask back onto the rack.

“Yeah. Guess I’ll just fuckin’ go with face paint again,” He stares hard at the masks, “sorry. The plan is ruined.”

“Hey, I’m not upset.”

“Why not, Harry? I don’t get how you’re always so, like, calm about this. We don’t even get to go to a simple Halloween party just us—“

“Lou,” Harry peeks around them and takes his wrist, pulling him away from the racks and into the tall aisles where they’re in a relatively more private area, “you told me the day after we met that it would be messy. I knew what I was getting into when I joined you on this tour. I knew our relationship would be primarily behind closed doors. Of course it upsets me, but it’s worth it, yeah? No matter what role you have to play all day, I still get you every night. I’m the one who gets to wake up next to you, and that’s all that really matters.”

Louis lets out a staggered breath, eyes glossy but still so filled with fury.

“You deserve better. We both do.” He says, voice going raspy like he might cry. Harry lets his hand on his wrist travel up a bit, so his whole palm is wrapped around his card class tattoo.

“We’ll get it someday. For now..help me find a costume? Then we’ll grab some face paint.”

“I notice it now, you know.” Louis says, turning his hand in Harry’s, squeezing him back so he knows what he’s talking about. He doesn’t seem angry about the fact that Harry’s using his magic to calm him, just observing the fact.

“Sorry.” Harry says anyway, ever aware of the bodyguards just a few paces away, well within earshot. It’s vague enough, anyway, but he doesn’t plan to out himself anytime soon. As in ever.

“I don’t mind,” Louis assures, finally giving him a smile, then he turns to the aisle they’re stood next to, “I think I have an idea.”

Harry follows his eyes to the white foam finger in the plastic package next to them, and raises an eyebrow.

“What, a sports fan?”

Louis takes his hand away to pick up the finger, and with a mirthful grin he leads him away, not giving away the costume plan he clearly has.

Harry doesn’t protest, following him as they explore the costumes. Despite having calmed him, Louis’ fingers still shake a bit, still upset.

He fully plans to make it better once they’re alone.

-

“This was supposed to be embarrassing you.” Louis says with a pout.

Harry grins, painting the last bit of the nail on the foam finger.

“I’m not easily embarrassed. Plus, I love Miley Cyrus.”

“I have her number if you’d like it.” Louis says, reaching up to tug at one of his little buns.

“I hate you.” Harry says with a laugh, placing a cap on the red paint and setting the foam finger on the table to dry. He turns to the boy, finds him working some gel into his hair so it won’t get in the face paint.

It’s a bit of a wet drag, since his hair is still wet from his post-gig shower. They had been fantastic tonight. Harry had spent the show watching with Eleanor in his usual VIP seat. She’d explained to him that they’d have to kiss in at least one photo during the party, and told him all about how the photographs would be planned, so Harry can spend time with her and Louis most of the night anyway.

He’s feeling a lot better about it now, knowing he won’t have to worry excessively about keeping a distance. Obviously, they can’t control who attends, so he won’t be able to snog him or something, but he can still be himself mostly.

Besides, he really likes Eleanor. Spending a party chatting with her and the love of his life definitely isn’t a punishment.

“Got any designs in mind?” Harry asks, taking the white and black face paint from the package while Louis gels his hair.

“I did a star over me eye last year. Maybe just some black around the eyes and mouth or something?”

“Want me to do it?”

“Only if you sit in m’lap.” Louis grins, eyes on Harry’s little skimpy nude-coloured shorts. He’s literally just in them and white leather designer trainers. They’re Alexander McQueen’s, but Harry’s definitely casual about it.

Truthfully, it’s still all surreal to him. Yesterday he’d received his first digital paycheque, being paid bi-monthly for the writing job. It’s not that he isn’t writing, because he and Louis definitely wrote those few songs for Julian to check out, but travelling the world with his boyfriend and writing songs hardly seems worthy of his bank account moving from hundreds to thousands.

He loves to write. It’s always been a hobby, but he never considered he could be getting paid to do it. Let alone so fucking much.

He stands up from the table and climbs into Louis’ lap, knees against the back of the couch and his expensive arse shoes folded under them. Louis sits back and touches his bare thighs, smiling.

“People are going to wonder why I’m practically nude in October.” Harry murmurs, uncapping the white face paint and starting at Louis’ forehead, spreading it thin over his soft skin.

“Maybe they’ll think you’re a magical being who can control his body temperature.” Louis says, quietly so Aiden doesn’t hear from the back of the bus. He wouldn’t, because he’s on the phone with his mum, but Louis’ mortal ears can’t know that.

“Maybe. Happy to see me?” Harry asks, wriggling a bit in his lap, feeling Louis’ definitely hard dick against his arse cheek. It’s probably unfair. They haven’t had full sex since the hotel in London, and now Harry’s in his lap dressed as Miley Cyrus, nearly naked.

“Piss off. You’re the one who wouldn’t give me anything in Donny.”

“Pretty sure I remember sucking your cock in the rental just day before yesterday.” Harry says, voice casual as if they’re discussing the weather, swiping white paint over the boy’s sharp cheekbones.

“We both know that’s not exactly what I need.” Louis says, pinching his thigh lightly. Harry jumps a bit, and Louis inhales sharply at the friction it causes. His use of ‘need’ rather than ‘want’ does many things to Harry’s heart. 

“I did tell you I have to get some control first, remember?”

“We don’t have to play to fuck,” Louis says nonchalantly, “you gave me all that talk about how it’ll be different now that I know about you. You said I just had to wait until America.”

“Yes..but I can’t do it differently without the play.” Harry swipes the paint over Louis’ lips. They’re slightly open, his eyes dilating with the conversation.

“Are you saying your magic sex includes tying me up?”

“I’m saying if I don’t get it under control, tying you up won’t be necessary.”

“Like..I’ll go down either way?” Louis’ voice is nearly a whisper, shifting under him like he can’t help it.

“Yes. It won’t take much. My magic knows you know now. I told you it would be different in the sense that I can control my stamina, or keep you on edge for hours if I wanted, but that’s not just it. My body knows it doesn’t have to hide from you, and my magic knows what it’s like to have a direct line to you when you’re down. If I don’t get it under control, it’ll happen too fast. It’s..manipulating is what it is.”

“I mean, if I’m enjoying it what’s the problem?” Louis asks. Harry frowns, spreading the last bit of white paint over his chin, then picking up the black.

“It’s not going to happen. I can’t be the cause for something like that.”

“So what you’re saying is..until you get it under control, no actual sex?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Wish you wouldn’t tell me that when you’re sat on me in nothing but tiny shorts.” Louis frowns, pulling at the waistband of said shorts and letting them slap back onto his hip.

“Sorry, baby. Good news, though, we’re ready to go.” He swipes one last bit of black paint over his eye and replaces the cap with a smile.

Louis just keeps frowning, and sort of doesn’t let it drop for hours.

-

“You two have a domestic?” Eleanor asks an hour after they arrive. Harry looks up from where he’s struggling to open a beer without taking off his foam finger. Admittedly he hasn’t seen Louis since they arrived. The boy had to take tons of photos with random people so some of them would post he and Eleanor together.

“Nothing serious. We’re both a bit stubborn.” Harry says, smiling as he gets the cap off. He lifts the beer and has a sip. He could say no, because they technically aren’t. Louis is just annoyed from the lack of dicking, but if he says so, he would have to include a reason for said lack of dicking.

When the reason is his magic, a lie will do.

“Did you make his tea wrong?” She asks, sipping at her own drink with a laugh in her eyes.

“Probably. I’ll have to wait to fix it, though. Lots of eyes around here.”

“Yeah. Sorry, love.” She sets a comforting hand on his arm, eyebrows furrowing. When she does, Harry’s stomach lurches. She’s wearing a ring. A ring on a certain finger that can only be one thing.

“Eleanor..” he chokes, setting down his beer and taking her hand, eyes on the huge diamond.

“Oh! No, don’t worry. It’s part of the costume. I’m a corpse bride, see?” She spins, and reveals a small veil, hidden before by her pretty waves. Harry then realises she’s in a short white dress too, ripped with fake blood on the rips. He sighs in relief, flushing in embarrassment when she turns back around.

“I’m sorry. I thought..I dunno.” He laughs at himself, wiping fake sweat from his brow. She laughs along, twirling the ring on her finger.

“I know. God, imagine that. The Larry shippers would fuckin’ kill me if something like that happened.”

“So you know about the shipping, then?” Harry leans against the counter with a smile, picking back up his beer.

“Who doesn’t? It’s, like, all over the place. It went from a few people to most of the fans after the bandana thing was figured out. Then those photos of you two at the shop. And the ones from Donny—“

“Wait what? There’s photos from Donny?”

“You didn’t know? Here,” she reaches into her dress pocket, taking out her phone and navigating to instagram. There, she pulls up Lottie’s page. She’s posted a selfie of her and Louis, arms around each other and smiling like goofs. In the background is rest of the family. Half of Mark seen in the kitchen, carrying a stack of plates. Harry sitting at the table mid-laugh with the twins. Despite the photo being blurry in the back, it’s distinctly him.

“Before, the shipping thing could be chalked down to coincidences, but with this they know Louis took you home to meet the family. Without me.” She grins, not seeming annoyed by this in the slightest.

“You sure sound like you know a lot about this shipping thing.” Harry says, and she slaps at his bare chest with a giggle.

“Whatever, you two are really cute. Maybe I wouldn’t have to stalk you through your stalkers if you’d text me more.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been terribly distracted with dating your boyfriend,” he sighs, but can’t help but smile when she laughs, head thrown back and everything, “can I make it up with a dance?”

“You mean can we make Louis jealous with a dance?”

“I’m going to be dancing like Miley. If he gets jealous it’s only because he wishes he had these moves.” He wiggles his eyebrows and takes her hand, and they’re off to the middle of the room.

It takes two minutes before Louis’ stepping in, eyes a steely blue as he all but throws a coat at Harry.

“Paul says we gotta head back. We have to get up early for an interview tomorrow. Put this on, it’s cold outside.” He takes Eleanor’s hand, because there’s people staring, but they aren’t looking at him. True to his word, he was definitely dancing like Miley.

“Do we have to?” Harry whines, not putting on the coat. He know Louis wants him dressed so the eyes will look away from his bare skin, not because of the cold. They both know the cold doesn’t matter. As far as he knows, Paul might not even be here.

“Yes. Come on.” Harry follows behind the couple as they leave, shrugging on the coat Louis got from god knows where as they step out into the cold air.

Louis ensures Eleanor is save and sound in their driver’s backseat, and she’s all mirthful grins as both boys give her cheeks a kiss.

“Have a good night.” She says, and her and Harry share a smile as the door shuts and she’s off. Louis takes a hold of his sleeve and they climb into their own car.

It’s deathly silent, and Louis’ jealous rage is only heightened by the paint on his face, giving him scary shadows around his eyes. He sits fully in his own seat, not a single bit of skin touching his.

“Lou?” He asks, lip between his teeth nervously.

“Shut the fuck up.” Louis says, and levels him with a look that stops Harry before he can reach out. Then he realises the boy might be genuinely angry with him. That he doesn’t want to be touched. Because then Harry would know exactly what his anger is about. It’s fair, but it makes discomfort swirl in his stomach. He’s not used to being in the dark about how someone’s feeling.

They ride in tense silence back to the bus, still parked at The Dome at America’s Centre until tomorrow when they start the drive to Nashville.

There’s two buses, and he and Louis were immediately elected to stay together in Bus 1 while the other three bunk up in 2. Something about how they didn’t want to “hear them at night”. It made sense, but now when they step onto the dark and quiet bus together, it’s just simply nerve wracking.

“Louis..Eleanor and I were dancing as friends. You know I’m, like, really gay?” He says as soon as the door shuts behind them. Louis kicks off his shoes and rummages around in a bag on the little table sat in front of the couch. His jaw tightens but he otherwise doesn’t say anything, angrily tossing things around until he finds what looks like a package of baby wipes. He yanks one out and starts at his eyes, removing the black paint around them.

“You aren’t actually cross with me, are you?”

Louis whirls onto him, stepping up and stabbing a pointy finger into his chest. It rather hurts.

“Is this a game to you? You know what you’re wearing. You knew the looks you’d get when you stepped out onto that floor. While I’m running around talking to people about my _incredible_ fucking girlfriend, you’re dry humping the air and just asking for everyone to look at you.”

“So I can’t dance, then? I’m not allowed to have fun?” Harry asks, desperately wants to reach out and touch him, but knows it would piss him off more.

“You love to dance, don’t you?” Louis asks, but he spits the word, like a curse, remnants of the black paint still sticking to his eyelashes, the white around it ever present. The makeup makes his eyes soso blue. He looks like a hot angry vampire.

“I..yeah? I like to dance? What—“

“And if some guy were to step up and start dancing with you, would you let him? Would you let him touch you and take you home and fuck you?”

“Jesus, of course not, of course I wouldn’t!” Harry sputters, reaching for him, but Louis inhales sharply and he stops again, hand tingly with the need to feel.

“Why the fuck not, Harry?! Because we both know my relationship is fake. You can touch me and feel exactly how I feel about you, but I have nothing! You go out and dance like you want something more and all I can do is go grab her hand and hope you’ll follow me out of the party.” His jaw ticks, and then his eyes are welling up.

Harry suddenly realises he isn’t angry. No, he’s hurt. This isn’t just about the jealousy. This is about them. What they can’t do.

_Things I can’t_.

“I’ll always follow you, Lou. I’ll follow you anywhere.” Harry swears, stepping in to close the space between them. Louis reaches out like he wants to stop him, fist pressing to his sternum. Then it flattens, hand warm against his bare chest.

“They were all looking at you. And one of them could’ve stepped up. And what could you possibly say? Because you can’t say you’re mine. And I can’t show them you are. And I have to look into cameras, knowing the lovely fans are on the other side, and tell them you aren’t. I have to lie to them all the fucking time. And it was fine before, because it was just me and I didn’t need to be out. But now it’s us, and I can see it’s hurting you just like it always has me, and you can’t possibly know how bad it gets and I can’t—fucking,” he’s shaking, and Harry’s heart is breaking.

“Please, let me touch you, please,” Harry asks, and Louis sucks in a breath and pulls him in, wrapping arms around his neck. Harry hugs him tightly, hands settling on his lower back, closing his eyes as the wave of emotions wash over him. He’s feeling so fucking much it’s terrifying.

“I can’t let you get bad like I did. It kills you. It killed me. I..almost want to let you go. I almost want you to leave and be with someone else. Someone who can hold your hand in public and won’t—“

“Stop, Christ, do you honestly think I could ever want anyone else? You’re it for me. I knew this would be messy. I knew it was going to be hard. I mean, sure, it bothers me that when we walk into a stadium you’re holding someone else’s hand, but I know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Yes I do. It’s not a choice to be with you. It’s been my fate for as long as I’ve been alive,” he pulls away so he can look him in his teary eyes, “our situation isn’t forever. It’ll be messy until we’re allowed not to be. But this, us loving each other, that’s forever. You’re all I want and you’re insane if you honestly think I stepped out onto that dance floor hoping for anyone’s eyes but yours.”

Louis exhales shakily, fisting the lapel of his coat tightly.

“They think we’re engaged.” He whispers. Harry walks him backwards, sits him on the table and grabs a baby wipe, continuing to swipe the face paint away.

“You and Eleanor?”

“Yeah. We took photos and everyone kept asking if we were engaged and she kept having to explain it was her costume. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It never bothered me, before. The pretending and shit.”

“Except it did. You’ve been through so much and it got so bad you didn’t even notice you were fading. You let go of that ledge, remember?”

“I wasn’t going to let myself die because I have to pretend I’m not gay, Harry.” His voice lifts, defensive and panicked like it is every time they talk about that night. Harry usually drops it, here. He doesn’t this time.

“There’s a lot of shit you’ve been through that got you to that point, but you’re lying if you say that isn’t one of the layers that snowballed it.”

“Oh, is your magic making sure I’m telling the truth?” Louis asks, voice wavering. It’s biting and it’s mean, especially because Harry has minimal control over it, but he knows Louis is just scared, still scared to admit he was suicidal. Still, it’s biting and it’s mean.

“Actually, it’s the fact that I’m in so deep for you that I kind of notice when things make you sad, wanker.”

“Fuck you. You act like I sit around fuckin’ crying all the time—“

“Why is it so hard to admit you wanted to die?!” Harry asks, voice raising, tossing the baby wipe down. He’s hardly cleaned off his eyes and his chin, his face still covered in white paint.

“Why don’t you just piss off and let me?!” Louis asks, voice raising to meet his. His eyes are wild, chest heaving in panic as he’s called out.

“Because it’d be so fucking easy to leave me, wouldn’t it? Just give up on everything so you don’t have to feel the shit?!” The curtains over the windows flutter. The lightbulb above them flickers once.

“It would, actually! You don’t get it, you don’t understand how bad it is—“

“I don’t care! Are we not worth it for you?! You’d give up the messy shit, but you’d also give up on us. You’d let this go for some shit uncertain afterlife?”

“I didn’t choose this.” Louis says, voice scathing and body vibrating so much _fear_ that it seeps into him.

The curtains still as Harry’s heart stops.

His hands fall limp, and Louis’ face drops as he realises what he’s said. He opens his mouth immediately, but nothing comes out. No apology. No take-backs. He goes blurry as Harry’s eyes well up.

“So that’s it, then? You fell for me because fate ensured it, but you didn’t want it.” It’s not a question. Harry’s tears begin to fall, and the pitter-patter of rain on the metal roof begins at the same time. He turns to leave. Go anywhere. Anywhere but here. Anywhere that doesn’t have Louis’ silence. His ever-telling, horribly horrible silence.

“No! No—“ Louis finally says when Harry turns to leave. He doesn’t stop, yanking open the bus door and stepping out. It’s pouring, because his emotions are heightened, and the parking lot is dark, the lights of the city blurred with the rain and the fog drifting through. He doesn’t even fucking know where he is. Which way to turn to find a street to get a cab.

Hands wrap around his wrist, tugging him back before he can get more than a metre away from the bus. Louis’ socks are soaked, now, and the rain rinses the gel from his hair, sends it fraying onto his forehead like a wet puppy.

“Harry, please, I didn’t mean it. Come back inside.”

“I can’t, this isn’t—“

“Touch me, fucking- read my mind so you know I’m not lying. It was stupid, I just wanted to win the fight!” Louis reaches for him, but Harry pulls back, wiping rain or maybe tears from his eyes.

“How could it not be true, though? You’re so- you’re everything, and I’m just some kid from Holmes Chapel who can’t give you anything. You tell me you want me to find someone else and you wish you could choose and now that I’m giving you the out you don’t want to take it?!” Harry’s shouting. And not just because the rain is loud. But because he’s heartbroken. He’s simply just heartbroken.

“Because I’m fucking terrified, okay?!” Louis shouts back. And finally. _Finally_ , “I love you so much that I’d let go of the ledge so you wouldn’t fall too! I, fuck, if you asked me to I’d leave the band and marry you tomorrow. Run away and give you a million children and never look back. Can’t you see how bloody terrifying that is?! I didn’t choose this! I didn’t ask to love you this much, to love anyone this much.”

“And you wish you could choose?”

“I would choose you.” He says, chest heaving quickly with his bursted confession. Harry sobs, stepping closer as lightning cracks across the sky.

“Don’t—“

“I would choose you every time. I don’t care how bad it is or how easy it could be otherwise. I don’t want anything else either, Harry..please, just,” he reaches out, takes Harry’s wrist, lifts his hand to his face.

Harry can’t control his magic. The moment his palm comes to rest on Louis’ cheek, it drinks him in. Everything he’s feeling inside and out. Not just his candour, either.

His need for more. For him. The love absolutely crashing through him. So much love it hurts. It hurts so bad, and Harry’s drunk on it. He leans in, takes his hand from his cheek and lifting him instead, taking them back inside, door flying shut behind them.

In the three seconds it takes to bring them in and set him back down, he’s dried them completely.

“Don’t open yourself too much, it can be dangerous.” Harry says, because he can feel it fuzzing just under the surface. If he goes down it can get bad very quick. When it gets bad it gets so mindblowingly good that Harry forgets why its bad.

“You made me promise not to pull away even if I don’t want you to feel me, but you have to promise to stay too. You can’t leave, even when I’m fucking up.” Louis touches his hair, still up in the stupid tiny buns, and Harry nods, stomach swirling with guilt despite him having been the one who was hurt. He remembers his mum telling him ‘never leave in anger’ every time he’s asked for relationship advice.

“I promise. God, Lou, that’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to admit what you’re really feeling.”

“I’m sorry. It’s hard for me sometimes. I feel a lot of shit and you’re so perfect—“

“I couldn’t be further from perfect. Please don’t cry.” He frowns, reaching up to thumb Louis’ tears away. The boy pulls him closer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, voice a rasp from yelling.

“I’m sorry, too. Hey, let’s..c’mon.” He pulls at him, back to the dark bunks. Most of them are filled with random shit, mostly Louis’ clothes, but there’s an empty one for sleeping. It’s not meant for two people, but they’re definitely not separating right now.

He climbs in and Louis follows. They curl up with each other and have a cry together. Overwhelmed with everything and finally getting it out.

“I love you. It’s..this is worth everything. Like you said earlier, nothing else matters as long as we wake up together.” Louis whispers as if there’s a single other soul on the bus to mind.

They fall asleep like that, tear tracks down their faces, Harry still dressed like Miley Cyrus, Louis still half covered in paint, whispering reassurances to each other as the rain slowly calms.

St. Louis is a bit of a turning point, to say the least.

-

Before they can start the drive to Nashville, the band has to go to some promo interview for the tour. As if there’s many more seats to be filled anyway.

Harry climbs out of the bunk and decides to walk to the petrol station across the street and grab some crisps. There’s food on the bus, but he sort of needs the fresh air anyway.

The air is a bit humid from the rain last night, _definitely_ not his fault, so he sticks a backwards cap on his head which is _definitely_ not Louis’ and makes his way across the street. The city is up and bustling, well on their way to ten AM.

Plastic bag filled to the brim with snacks, Harry opens up a cranberry juice and is making his way back to the gated entrance to the bus area when he sees there’s about ten people crowded around it. They can’t get in, because the metal barred gate requires a card swipe to go through, one just like the one in his pocket, but they’re all looking at him expectantly. Like they were waiting or something.

“Good morning.” Harry says politely as he approaches. He isn’t sure what he’s meant to do. Who they are.

“Hi, Harry!” A few of them chorus together. He’s stepped up to the gate but stops, turning around to them. He racks his brain but can’t remember a single one of them.

“Wh..do I know you?” He asks, noticing a good few of them are holding phones. He wonders if they’re recording or something.

“No! We’re fans.” Someone says, and Harry blinks in realisation.

“Oh! Of course! I apologise, but the boys are in an interview right now.”

“We’re fans of you, Harry!” A girl says, and a few of them laugh. Like he’s being silly. Is he being silly?

“Me? I’m not in One Direction.”

“I know.” A girl says, forlorn.

“I love Adore You. It’s my favourite song.” Another cuts in.

“We love all of your songs! Can we..get a photo with you?” A third asks, and then they’re all speaking over each other, pleading for photos, promising it won’t take long.

Harry blinks, utterly surprised, and turns to place his bags of snacks down. Then he poses for photos with each individual person, has a chat with each one. They aren’t here for the band. They’re here for him. Him, who filled in for the opening act for a couple of days.

One girl asks if he could possibly get a studio recording of his songs on Spotify so they can listen to them. They say his songs are spread just in the form of audience member’s phone recordings from the shows. They ask about lyrics that aren’t fully coherent in the recordings. They ask how he is. They give him praise he feels he doesn’t deserve.

Most of all, when he gives them hugs, he feels just pride and loyalty. It’s confusing, really, why these people like him so much.

After he’s taken photos and written his first name in all caps on a girl’s phone case, he hands them each one of the snacks from his bag, because it’s cold and surely they’re hungry hanging out here trying to get a glimpse of the band.

Then he steps into the gate, admittedly sad that he has to leave them behind, and walks back to the bus in a daze. In the end, he doesn’t even eat the snacks he initially left to get. Instead, he pulls up twitter and spends an hour replying to as many people who’ve dm’d him sweet messages as he can.

-

“Saw the video.” Louis says when they’re halfway to Nashville later that day, plopping down next to him on the couch. Harry looks up and shuts his journal too quickly, not even close to subtle.

“What video?” He asks a tad louder than intended. Louis raises an eyebrow.

“What’re you writing?”

“Nothing—Louis!” Harry gawks when the boy snatches the journal and bounces away, to the back of the bus.

He considers following, but he can hear the rustling of paper and his heart pounds. It doesn’t take long, maybe a minute, before Louis comes shuffling back in, cheeks somehow pinker than his.

He climbs onto the couch next to him and cuddles right up into his side, nose to his jaw.

“Am I the sweet creature?” Louis asks, voice soft in a way that only Harry gets to hear. Reserved for when it’s just them.

Well, as just them as they can get, though he doubts Betty can hear them from the drivers seat.

“As if I write about anything but you these days. Is it bad?”

“Not bad, just very..personal. I think if anyone ever heard this they’d know the rumours are true about us.”

“Are you trying to tempt me into posting a recording?”

Louis giggles, pressing a warm kiss where he’s hiding in his neck. He’s pleased, and it’s warming him all over. Harry can’t get enough of it, hands skating over his thighs and back like he’s never felt another person in his life.

“We had our first real fight last night.” Louis murmurs next, fingers gentle when he touches at his chest, over the butterfly, covered by his shirt.

“I know. How do you feel?” Harry asks, and Louis lifts up from his neck with a snort.

“You tell me.” He says, poking at Harry’s hand resting on his thigh.

“Guilty, apprehensive, lots of love, though. Something shifted last night. The love is a bit more..” he struggles to conjure up a word to describe it. He can’t. It’s hard to explain something changing when it was already unexplainable at its base level.

“Is it bad?” Louis asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No. It’s overwhelming, I guess is the best word to describe it. I feel like you might have been holding back a bit, maybe even unconsciously, and last night you just let it go.”

“Like I went down?”

“No, deeper than that. When you go down it’s more like emotional walls dropping. This is..I dunno, you letting yourself not just love me, but be loved?” It’s quite out there. Like something from a bad romance movie, and Louis smiles, shaking his head.

“Don’t put that in your vows.” He says, and Harry pulls him in for a kiss, physically unable to stop his silly smile.

_To be loved, and to be in love_.

“Oh,” Harry pulls away from the kiss, “what video did you see?”

“Right, yeah. Someone posted a recording of you seeing some fans at the gate earlier. Everyone on Twitter is going mad because you were far too humble for your own good, not to mention the white face paint in your hair when you definitely didn’t have any on last night.” He smiles, eyes all sparkly and fond flowing through him like a ribbon of light.

_All I can do is say that these arms were made for holding you._

“I thought they were there for you.” Harry says, flushing a bit.

“I know. It was so cute. Then you gave them your crisps and now the whole world knows you’re too kind for your own good.” He leans in, giving him a small kiss.

“Such a thing as too kind?” Harry asks, hands drifting under his shirt as he pulls him closer, then lies him down on the couch, crawling over him.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, “you’ll never have time to talk to every single person who wants your attention. Sooner you realise that, less it’ll hurt.”

Harry frowns, positions Louis’ legs just right so when he rolls their hips together it makes the boy gasp, hands scrambling for purchase on anything.

“That’s depressing.”

“Speaking of depressing, you got your shit under control yet?” Louis asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling their lips together and making a desperate noise. Harry grinds them together, over and over, keeping the boy quiet with their lips sealed together.

Afterwards, their pants wet with come and hair mussed, they lie together and don’t really talk. Not in a bad way, though, just feeling a lot and not needing words to express that. Hands drifting over each other gently and hearts beating as one.

_I wanna love like you make me feel._

-

This time, Harry notices the tingle in his fingers the moment it starts.

“What is up with you?” Louis asks, pulling his show jeans on, eyebrows furrowed. Usually by now, Harry’s up in the box seat with Eleanor, having already watched Jane performed. Today, he’s yet to leave Louis’ side. Sat in the front row during soundcheck. Stood against the wall through hair and makeup. And now, ten minutes until show, he’s in the green room while the boys get their mics and plug-ins in check.

“Just..feeling anxious. Is it alright if I watch the cameras this time? Like you did when I performed?” He hopes the shake in his voice isn’t too noticeable. Hopes he can get through whatever happens today without fucking ruining the show or something. He doesn’t know how Louis is meant to die, but he definitely isn’t going to be further from him than he has to be.

“Of course you can. Are you okay?” He says the word like it’s a bigger question, reaching out to touch a few fingers to his forehead like he’s checking for a fever. He still needs to get his plugs in, but he stops and steps up to him, blue eyes swimming with worry.

“I’m okay.” Harry says, swallowing thickly. Louis peeks around the room and then takes his hand, placing their palms together.

“Am I okay?” He asks next, and Harry blinks in surprise.

“Yes. It’s not—I’m just feeling weird. It might just be the fight still throwing me off.” He leans in, touches a kiss to his temple. Feeling him, he can only hope the lack of physical wear means it won’t be something internal. It will probably be an outside force doing him in. Maybe if Harry stays with him all day he can stop it before it even starts.

“Harry,” Louis starts like he’s going to push for a real answer, but then they have to go put on their whole fucking show. Because he’s a star in a huge band.

Harry follows them out of the door, and when they part at the cameras, he kisses his hair and sends him off with what is hopefully a convincing smile.

With each step separating them, the tingle increases.

-

When the show goes on and then ends just fine, Harry’s left feeling even more on edge. The lack of anything happening is almost worse than it just happening quickly.

They step out of the stadium, and the bus is parked across the street. The street lined with fans and paps. The road’s been blocked off for the show, so the boys take their time signing things and posing for photos. Harry distracts himself giving photos of his own when people ask, but never lets himself be too far from Louis, eyeing every person they approach. For all he knows, it could be a murder attempt.

“Alright. We gotta head out, boys!” Paul shouts to them, and then they’re off, Louis glancing back to make sure he’s following. As if he can do anything but.

The buses are parked across the street where the fans aren’t allowed to, and it’s always nice to see them and see the boys interact with them, so Harry’s mood is lifted a bit as they cross the closed down road.

_Meant_ to be closed down.

He and Louis are furthest back from the rest of the boys, because neither of them are that great at walking away from nice people. The sound of a speeding car would fall onto deaf ears for nearly everyone here, because of the loud screaming of the fans behind them. Nearly everyone, anyway. 

The headlights fall over them, and Harry looks.

Time slows.

Not in a literal sense, because meddling with time can fuck things up, but in the way that Harry’s frazzled brain can process things within a millisecond that would take a mortal brain minutes. The car isn’t too big, but it’s going fast enough that when it hits him it will definitely do some damage. Louis is just perfectly in line to be hit, and it would almost seem on purpose if the driver wasn’t some sort of inebriated, obvious from his slumped figure over the wheel. Death attempting to take his boy yet again.

Harry knows he’s going to push Louis out of the way, but then what? Doing so will put himself in the line of fire. He could easily speed his movements, follow Louis out of the way, or he could port out of the way.

But there’s a problem. The problem comes in the form of the hundreds of fans and paps behind them, the cameras and phones trained on their every move. He can’t use his magic right now without being exposed. There’s only one thing he can do.

He’s going to let himself get hit, and will allow his magic to heal him only enough to keep him alive. Whatever injuries he gets, he can’t heal them right here in front of everyone. Not without revealing his biggest secret. It’s going to hurt, but Louis will be okay. Louis won’t die.

God, Louis is going to be traumatised. He’s likely going to look back and watch it happen. He’s going to lose sleep and his reaction may just out them to the whole world.

Anything is better than Louis dying, though. Any other option is what he would choose.

So, he does just that. He looks to the car and then places his hands on Louis’ shoulder blades and shoves him forward. The boy goes down roughly, knees and heels of his hands scraping, and he immediately looks back, eyes wide.

Then the impact. It ricochets through his entire body, and he’s thrown up over the car, vaguely hearing his shirt ripping as it’s snagged on something, and then he’s airborne, limbs flailing. In the air, his magic shifts him incrementally so his neck won’t break when he hits the concrete. It stops his tibia from fully breaking, because if the bone shoots through the skin along with his other injuries, he will bleed out. Instead, it’s a fracture. He hits the concrete next, on his back, and lets himself rag doll. He can’t feel the pain, his magic blocking his receptors so he doesn’t go into shock. The shock would definitely kill him.

There’s a full second of silence as the hundreds of people’s mortal brains process what they’ve just seen. The car’s screeching tyres coming to a stop and the crunching of metal as it crashes into what sounds like a pole.

Then, the most horrible sound he’s ever heard.

“Harry!” It’s Louis, who’s at his side within a moment, and he’s just fucking screaming in a way Harry’s only heard once before.

He was seven or eight. In a hospital after Gemma broke her foot in gymnastics. They were leaving and a mother in the lobby was informed her son had died in surgery. The scream is exactly the same. It’s blood-curdling. It’s horrible, so horrible.

People surround him, and there’s shouting as security desperately tries to keep everyone at bay. There’s so much screaming. So much noise everywhere, so much anxiety and fear flying through the air that it’s aching him.

“L—“ he chokes as he tries to talk. Chokes on his own blood, as it turns out. He can smell it, the blood. Alberto is at his other side, and he’s saying something, but Harry can’t hear anything. Can’t hear anything but Louis’ screaming. What is he even saying? Why is he on top of him, arms holding him down by his stomach?

“Don’t move him! Get the fucking ambulance! Stop just standing around you fucking—“ Louis is screaming at the top of his bloody lungs.

Harry reaches for him, touches a hand to his waist. There’s blood on his hand, so it messes up his nice shirt immediately. Where is it all coming from? Why is Louis so damn terrified, flying through him at such a speed he may just go into shock himself?

“Baby,” Harry manages, and all at once Louis stops screaming. His hands are still down, holding him, but he leans over him, gets in close so Harry can see his pretty eyes through his blurry vision.

“You’ll be okay, love, don’t move, okay? Keep looking at me.”

“I—“ Harry coughs, turning his head so the blood can pool out of his mouth so he can talk, “I love you.” He manages.

“Don’t fucking say that. Don’t talk like you’re going to- please don’t die, please Harry just—“ he’s sobbing now, and Harry feels it deeply, because his lack of feeling himself is causing him to feel Louis, mostly. So he cries too.

“Kiss,” Harry inhales sharply, “baby, I—“

He doesn’t need to give a reason. Louis kisses him, and there’s probably people telling them not to. There’s probably hundreds of people recording them and tons of people on their own team panicking around them.

It doesn’t matter. He needs it. Needs it because his strength is failing. Soon his magic will sputter with how much it’s giving right now. Soon he will feel it all, and it’ll knock him out. He needs the kiss. Not just for him but for Louis. Because he can give and give and give, but he could still die today. He could.

When Louis pulls away, his lips are red with blood. He looks down between them and sits back up, adjusting his hands.

“Where the fuck is the ambulance?!” He shouts at the top of his lungs. Harry can feel it slipping, his strength. He can only use his magic to this extent for a short time before it gives into exhaustion. So he lifts his head to see. See where the blood is coming from.

“Oh.” He moans dazedly, looking down at the way Louis is holding his skin together. There’s a deep gash from below his sternum to his side, curving around the butterfly jaggedly. There must’ve been a part of the car sticking out that caught his skin. He realises now that the tearing noise when he was hit wasn’t just his shirt, it was him too. Louis’ hands are holding his skin together, the only thing keeping his intestines from spilling out. So that’s where the blood is coming from. It makes sense now.

He lies his head back down as the magic begins to slip. He groans in pain, eyes fluttering.

“No, stay awake. Hazza, please. Don’t leave-please don’t take him, please, please, please-“ he continues like that, pleading him not to die in the most heartbreaking voice Harry’s ever heard, head bowing and lips pressed to his chest. No, his necklace. His cross. He’s praying, Harry realises. Louis’ praying.

He gasps emotionally, wants to reach up and promise the boy he will try his best not to die. Wants to open his eyes and see him again. If he’s going to die, he wants Louis to be the last thing he sees.

Instead, his magic finally flickers and the pain washes over him for one white blinding moment of sheer and absolute terror, before his brain shuts him down.

-

He’s being choked and there’s the distinct smell of strong coffee and sterile plasters. He can smell it all, can feel the shrill love and panic and the heartbreak of his loving mother far before he manages to tear his eyes open. He hasn’t physically seen his mum in months. He talks to her daily through text or call but he hasn’t actually felt her since summer. Doesn’t get to visit her often with med-school, and now tour. 

The choking sensation is the feeling of a recently removed intubation tube, he knows. There’s morphine being dripped into him and oxygen helping him along through a tube sitting under his nostrils, but he’s breathing on his own. It’s a good sign.

The self assessment only takes a moment. He’s had surgery, more than once it seems. Can feel the anaesthetic clinging to his skin, making him droopy and languid. He can hear the bustle of people outside of the door. Gurneys rolling by, nurses giving orders, other patient’s coughing. The door is definitely closed, though. His hearing enhanced.

He opens his eyes, finds the room is soft and dimmed, thank god. There’s a window to his left in his peripheral vision, and the sky is a purple-blue. Nearly sunset, then. If he’s had surgery he’s going to assume it’s been at least a full day. Maybe even two.

He can only hope the boys continued the tour. Didn’t cancel shows because of him. It would break his heart, probably.

He turns his head to find mum’s holding his hand and watching him with a very soft smile.

“It’s been a little more than a day. You’re still in Nashville and you’re going to be fine. The doctors are quite surprised you survived, let alone without much more than a few wicked scars. Though I can’t say I’m too surprised.”

Harry opens his mouth to ask her if Gemma’s here too, or ask her if he was exposed, or if she’s okay, or literally anything except what comes tumbling out of his mouth in a horrible rasp.

“Louis?”

She smiles like she understands anyway. She probably does, hand in his reading him right back.

“He’s down in the waiting room. Hasn’t left since you got here. Had to get cross with him myself to get him to at least shower. Get your blood cleaned from him.” She swallows thickly, something dark and scary flashing through her as she remembers something Harry definitely doesn’t want to see.

“Can I—“ _see him_ , he wants to say, but his throat is really fucking sore. The tubes they stick down there are no joke.

“You’re in the ICU since you’re on a bit of a watch. They think you could be having a surge of sorts, since your injuries should’ve been a lot more severe. I’m afraid visiting is family only.”

“He _is_ ,” Harry starts off angrily, then coughs horribly, eyes welling up and not just from the frustration or the pain or even the trauma, but because he might just fucking die if he doesn’t get eyes on the boy, make sure he’s okay, “I need him. Please.”

Whispering seems to be okay, it seems. She nods, pets at his hair while angry tears roll down his cheeks.

“Okay, shh. I’ll go have a chat with your doctor, see if we can work something out, yeah?” She smiles and stands up, stepping out of the room.

Harry exhales shakily and finally works up the courage to look down at himself. His leg is in a cast, slung up with attachments to the ceiling so it’s elevated, there’s a terribly thick layer of bandage over his entire torso, and he knows it’s because of that deep gash he’d received. There’s plasters littering him everywhere. His chest and his arms and when he lifts a hand to his face, his cheek as well. He can only assume the stitch count is off the chain. Likely, he’s bruised everywhere as well.

His rings are gone, and so is his necklace. He knows it’s because of surgery and because he likely got CTs, but it still makes his heart skip in panic. What if they just yanked it off? What if they clipped it? What if they removed it hastily and nobody bothered to pick it up?

When the beeping monitor next to him increases, he wants to yank it from his finger, but he knows it will set off alarms. But fucking hell, it’s annoying. Just beeping right in his ear, speeding up and up as he panics about a necklace of all things. Panicking about a fucking replaceable necklace after nearly dying—

The door opens, and the beeping falls right out of his ears. Louis closes the door behind himself and steps inside, then up to the bottom of the bed, looking him over with wide eyes. He looks a proper mess, wearing what looks like Liam’s clothes, hair fussed and sticking up on one side like he slept weird. There’s deep circles under his eyes and his hands are shaking where they’re holding a plastic cup, likely filled with the same stale hospital coffee mum was drinking.

“I hadn’t seen you yet. They only let family up. You look..” the boy trails off, inhaling a sharp breath.

“Like shit?” Harry rasps, and Louis blinks once, twice, then he laughs. It’s a short one, almost manic, and he sets his coffee down and rounds the bed, considers mum’s chair before deciding to just sit on the bed itself, fitting himself into the small space next to Harry’s waist. He’s very mindful, steering clear of any hurt bits, and touches soft fingers to his cheek, thumb swiping over the edge of a plaster.

“You pushed me out of the way. You had time to follow me.”

“There were too many cameras. I had to let it happen.” Harry whispers, trying to take deep breaths so he doesn’t cough up a lung.

“You didn’t heal yourself. You were just lying there letting it happen and I was h-holding your organs in,” Louis stops abruptly, and lifts a hand to wipe at his own eyes.

“I couldn’t walk away uninjured without exposing myself.”

“The saving my life thing was cool and all but this can’t happen. You can’t..you can’t replace me like that. I thought you were fucking gone. They had to sedate me ‘cause I wouldn’t stop screaming and your blood’s still under my fingernails and all I can think about is that if you died the last time you told me you loved me I didn’t say it back.” Louis’ face pinches up like he’s angry, then abruptly falls. He looks down between them, at the wrapping around his waist, and seems to just be remembering it all.

“I knew, you didn’t need to say it,” Harry says, and reaches for him when his breathing picks up. He’s in no state to keep a panic attack from happening, but he can only hope to stop it while he’s ahead, “feel it, remember? Go ‘head.”

He circles his fingers around Louis’ wrist, taking a moment to be overwhelmed by his trauma and fear and love, then he guides his hand to his neck, so Louis can feel his pulse just as they’ve done before.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.” Louis murmurs, lowers his head to nuzzle into his shoulder with a shaky breath. He doesn’t take his hand away from the pulse point, probably because of the panic sipping through him. Harry squeezes his fingers, still wrapped around the boy’s wrist, and after about two minutes he starts to go lax, breathing deep against his skin.

“Me neither. Are we in trouble? With your team?”

“There was enough crew and security and everyone standing around us that nobody really got a clear shot, but with the shit I was screaming and the blood on my lips there’s not much we can do. I’m sure we’re in for a meeting soon as you’re out.”

“You’re supposed to be performing in Atlanta right now.” Harry frowns, the hand not around his wrist petting at his knotted hair. Undoubtedly he slept on some shitty waiting room chairs last night.

“We cancelled Atlanta and DC.”

“No—“

“It wasn’t even my call, love. Nobody wants to continue without you. Nobody’s even in the right state of mind to sing right now. The fans are so understanding it’s actually incredible.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Technically my fault, innit? Since the universe can’t stop trying to..wait,” he lifts his head so their eyes meet, hand slipping from his pulse but not from his skin, “you knew something was going to happen, didn’t you? You hadn’t left my side all day. Said you were feeling anxious.”

“I get this tingle in my fingertips on the days you’re meant to die. I didn’t pay it any mind before but after the electrocution thing I started paying attention.” Harry clears his throat, eyebrows furrowing in a wince as he talks.

“Okay, we’ll talk later, rest your voice. Do you want the lights off?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer, sliding off of the bed and dimming the lights further, so there’s hardly enough to see. Then he settles into the seat next to the bed, folds his arms over the edge.

“Don’t go.” Harry murmurs, turning his hand so it’s palm up. Louis smiles softly and takes it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Harry closes his eyes and wants to ask about the necklace, but his throat really fucking hurts so he just lies back instead, feeling the love and support flowing through Louis like the boy is specifically thinking lovely thoughts for him. Maybe he is.

He’s drifting off, nearly asleep, when the darkness flickers on in Louis, taking over the joy. He realises the boy was purposely putting his walls up, trying to be happy for him until he falls asleep. It’s bittersweet, is what it is. Harry feels his lips turn down, and falls asleep.

-

He wakes up the next morning to the soft scratching of a pencil. His eyes are crusted and a bit puffed from too much sleep, though his body needed it. He can feel his magic thrumming, annoyed with its want to quickly heal him, annoyed that Harry won’t let it.

Louis’ sat on the chair next to the bed, writing in what looks like Harry’s journal, legs propped up on the bed and a tea in his other hand. Lounging and just hot in a casual way.

“I want an autumn wedding.” Harry says, voice more of a croak than anything, but not so painful anymore. Louis startles, pencil hovering over the page and eyes meeting his.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, huffing an incredulous laugh at the randomness of it.

“Yeah. Early autumn, though. Not so far in that all the leaves are gone, but not so early that it’s still hot. So, like, late September.”

“Sounds lovely. You want the wedding before the house or once we’re moved in?” It would seem like he’s taking the piss, if his eyes weren’t sparkling brighter than every star in the sky. Harry smiles, hoping the way his heart monitor speeding up won’t go mentioned.

“I think after. Don’t wanna try to fit wedding planning in with the tour. What’re you writing?”

Louis drops his legs, pulling his chair up to the bed and setting the journal in his lap.

“Far too cheesy songs I want you to finish.”

Harry can only look down and read the title ‘strong’ before the door opens and his doctor steps inside.

“Ah, good, you’re awake. Just stepping in for a checkup and bandage change.” Dr. Morrison smiles politely at Louis and touches at the top of Harry’s leg cast.

“Do you want to step out?” Harry asks the boy, closing the journal and setting it on the table next to them. Louis raises an eyebrow.

“You want me to?”

“No. I just mean..when the bandages come off, it might be a lot.”

Louis smiles softly, reaching for his hand and pressing their palms together.

“Who do you think will change them when you’re discharged? I’m okay.” He squeezes his hand, a very clear way to assure him he wants to be read. So Harry does, feeling the fear and apprehension is definitely present, but far more strong is his support.

“Great,” Dr. Morrison smiles and collects the bandages onto a table for the change, “I’ll show you what to do. These smaller ones along his arms and face likely won’t need changed more than once more. He can probably do them himself. It’s this one that he needs to be lying down for.”

He quickly changes the scattered plasters on Harry’s cheek and his arms, just cuts and scrapes that should heal rather fast. Then, he slowly begins to peel away the tape holding the large bandage over his torso.

“So the tape should be removed slowly. Especially around the side here, it’s a bit close to the bottom of the wound, so it will hurt when pulled at.” The doctor demonstrates, gently peeling the tape. Like he said, it does pull at the skin close to the cut around his side. He winces, and Louis squeezes his hand.

“How often does it need changed?” Louis asks, watching closely, more attentive than Harry’s ever seen him with, well, anything.

“At least once a day, and for at least a week. The stitches are new, so leakage may occur. The bandage is mostly here to prevent anything catching on the stitches and pulling one out. Most patients take it off before their daily shower and replace it after.”

“He can get it wet?”

“Starting at about 5PM today, yes. Try to avoid direct spray until they’re out, and pat them dry rather than rubbing.” He looks to Harry now, who nods and watches the bandage be lifted to reveal the cut.

It’s quite the sight. He’d gotten fifty-six stitches. They’re black and spiky, trailing from his sternum, around the top of his butterfly, and ending above his right hip. The skin is red and bruising on either side, pulled together and desperately trying to heal. Harry feels a bit of nausea shoot abruptly through Louis, but when he turns the boy is carefully stoic, nodding along as the doctor instructs him on post-stitch ointments and which tapes not to use.

Then the wound is being recovered, a fresh bandage placed over the whole thing, tape rolled out onto his skin to keep it there.

“Sleeping on your back will be the best. Try not to curl in on your side, and definitely avoid stomach sleeping,” he rattles on and on about everything he needs to know for the healing process, and then Harry is given discharge papers to fill out and give to the front desk on his way out.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Harry says once they’re alone again. Louis takes a breath and lifts their joined hands, kissing his knuckles.

“Definitely better than the last time I saw your stomach,” Louis replies, smiling as if it wasn’t horrible, “I’ll grab a nurse to get you ready. You fill out those papers.”

-

The bus waits for them outside of the hospital, but so does the media. Apparently, saving Louis Tomlinson’s life once again caused a lot of online craze.

More so than last time since the videos were posted. When Louis had gotten electrocuted, there was no video evidence. Just the story having to be told to explain why they went to the hospital. This time, there’s hundreds of recordings from different angles showing the entire scene. Harry is told #GetWellHarry and #HarryisLouisGuardianAngel has been number one and two trending on twitter ever since the news dropped.

“We’re technically not out, so same protocol as always,” Louis sighs as they approach the exits, rolling him in a wheelchair, “we’re having a meeting with Geoff soon as we’re on the bus. Hopefully he will see your state and go easy on us.”

“Give me the signal and I’ll fake a cramp to get us out of it.” Harry says, tilting his head back to see the boy’s smile. It’s tight, though. They can both hear the hum of the paps outside.

“Whatever they say, don’t pay them mind.” Louis says, and then the sliding doors open, and the flashing starts.

Harry grips onto the arms of the wheelchair tightly, staring ahead and taking a breath at the shouting. Many of them are nice, yelling at him to get well soon and hoping he is doing okay. Then there’s the handful of questions thrown at Louis. Asking why he hasn’t publicly thanked him. Asking if they paid the driver to get on the news. Just terribly fucked questions. Louis doesn’t say a word, and when they get to the bus a nurse helps him out of the wheelchair. He hops up the stairs and is settled into the couch. There’s still shouting even once they’re both inside and the bus slowly takes off.

“What’re you doing?!” Louis makes a noise and steps over to stop him. Harry continues with the scissors, removing layer after layer of his cast until it’s off, his leg itchy after the two days in a cast.

“Healed it. Don’t feel like wobbling around for a few weeks.” Harry explains quietly so Betty doesn’t hear. Louis settles into the seat next to him, watching him bin the cast and flex out his foot with a content sigh.

“Why not do it for everything?” Louis asks, leaning back against the seat next to him with a raised brow.

“I have to get out of this with scars. Don’t want a beach photo to release in a year or whatever and someone asks why there’s not a huge scar down my torso. A small tibia fracture doesn’t really show.”

“Smart. Wanna talk about it for longer so we can put off this call?” Louis asks, opening up his laptop and setting it on the table in front of them with a sigh.

“What kind of call is it anyway? Are we in trouble?”

“Likely. I don’t know what the fuck I was saying while you were dying but apparently it was enough for the world to see us as basically confirmed.”

“Must’ve said it when I went out, then.” Harry says, opening up a bottle of water while Louis pulls up FaceTime on the laptop.

“Yeah I got a bit..frantic when you went out. Never been sedated before so there’s one for the bucket list.” He smiles, but it’s tight lipped. Harry pulls him closer so they’re shoulder to shoulder, hooking a hand under his knee so one of his legs rests over his own.

Louis’ smile turns genuine, and he kicks off his shoes, tucking his toes behind his calf as they wait for the call.

It comes a few minutes later, interrupting a heated debate about whether they should stop at Maccas or Wendys on the way to Boston. Harry’s only met with Geoff over call, but he sort of looks exactly as he pictured when the FaceTime connects. Perfectly trimmed facial hair, suit and tie, heavily balding, frowning deeply.

“Whaddup, G?” Louis greets in a rather impressive American accent.

“Louis. Harry. Nice to see you two are healthy. I wanted to start off by saying the charges against the drunk driver are coming along swiftly.”

Louis nods, a strange sense of satisfaction swimming through him. Harry squeezes his thigh, and the boy sets his hand over his wrist. Anchoring him or maybe himself. Maybe both of them.

Anchoring, it’s a rather specific word, he thinks. Maybe that will be the tattoo he gets there. An anchor. The thought makes his stomach flip. He’s been thinking about a tattoo there for ages now, and finally having an idea for one makes excitement flare up.

“Onto the next thing..your, um, relationship status.”

“Dating. Boyfriends. Thanks for asking.” Louis says, a bit of bite in his tone. Harry looks down to his lap to hide his smile.

“Right. We should discuss what to do about it. The fans seem rather certain you’re together, and the amount of people supporting you and Eleanor have dropped detrimentally. The reaction isn’t good. Sales have dropped and people are refunding tickets. We need something big to distract them. Something more than just a date. Harry—“

“No.” Louis says, voice loud and hand suddenly squeezing his so hard it almost hurts. There’s a million emotions flitting through him. Harry blinks, looking between the two of them.

“What is it?”

“Harry,” Geoff says again, “we were wondering if you’d agree to a change in your contract. We’d set you up with—“

“ _No_ , Geoff. It’s not fucking happening. Don’t rope him into this shit. He’s not even in the band.” Louis says, voice going hard and scary, and once Harry finds a way to stop being overwhelmed by the emotions, he realises.

“You want me to have a beard too?” He asks, surprised at the thought. He didn’t think he was really relevant enough for that, actually.

“Forget it. It’s not happening and if you suggest it one more time I’m hanging up and posting our sex tape.”

“Louis—“ Harry starts.

“No. _No_.” Louis turns to him, and his eyes are swimming with so much. So much everything. It makes the words get caught in Harry’s throat, and he chews on the inside of his lip and rubs gentle circles into Louis’ thigh.

“Okay. But you realise what this means, Louis? We will need something big from you. We can discuss over the next few days but it needs to happen by New York.” Geoff pinches his nose, typing something furiously into a desktop behind camera.

“Great. Text me the plan.” Louis ends the call without another word, and there’s nothing but anger rumbling through him. Sizzling through his veins like a forest fire.

“I don’t understand. Why aren’t you allowed to come out anyway?” Harry asks, turning a bit in his seat to see him better. Louis picks up the hand from his thigh and fiddles with it, fingers soft against his own.

“You heard the shit about sales dropping. It’s always been a thing. Our band is catered towards teenage girls, y’know. I come out and that’s a quarter of the band they don’t have a chance with anymore.”

“You..you know he was lying, right? The sales haven’t dropped and nobody’s refunded tickets.” Harry frowns, watching the disbelief etch over Louis’ face.

“And how can you be so sure—“

“I sort of have a knack for seeing signs someone’s lying. I think if you came out you’d probably get lots of support and if anything a lot more male fans, actually.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been doing this shit for years, you didn’t see the hate I used to get when I dressed all flamboyant and flirted with male interviewers.”

“Of course you’ll get hate, but did sales drop? Or did he manipulate you then too?”

Louis shakes his head, and he’s starting to panic, shifting in his seat like he wants to pull away. He probably does, so Harry takes the hand from his thigh and wraps it behind his waist instead, holding him in place.

“Harry, please—“

“What is it? Do you truly think being gay will ruin the band? Or are you just afraid to come out and get judged?”

Louis eyes flash and he immediately backs away.

“Fuck off, stop reading my mind—“

“I’ve never intentionally read your mind, Lou, I’m just trying to figure it out. It’s okay to be gay, you know? You saw how the crowd reacted the time I picked up that pride flag. They were so supportive.”

“That’s you, though. I’m not..god, I’m doing this for us, you bastard. I’m doing whatever shitty stunt they call for next to protect us. To protect you.” He points a shaky finger at him, yanks his leg away so Harry can’t touch him anymore.

“So then you agree that me getting my own stunt would help that along?”

“No, don’t twist my words. You’re being a cunt.”

“You’re being a hypocrite.” Harry hisses back, reaching out to grab his arm, pull him back in, but Louis pushes his grabbing hands away. Harry lets himself slump back a bit even though it was a rather light push, and reaches down to touch at his shirt-covered bandage, wincing as if it hurts.

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t think the push would hurt there. Are you okay?” Louis is frazzled immediately, scooting across the couch back to him, reaching in and touching his arm gently. Harry stops feigning being hurt and scoops him up, flipping them over and pressing the boy down to the bed.

The movement does actually ache his wound a bit, but it’s rather easy to block the pain receptors there. Besides, it’s mostly unnoticeable compared to Louis’ comically surprised expression.

“Can you be selfish for one fucking moment of your life?” Harry asks darkly, legs pinning Louis’ down so he can’t kick at him. The boy immediately reaches up to push him off, but Harry takes his wrists, pins them to the cushion below them. Immediately, the boy’s eyelashes flutter, and his anger only increases.

“Fuck you for using that against me,” Louis says, but there’s also a flicker of pride going through him, “you’re the one being selfish here. You threw yourself in front of a car for me, I can snog a girl in front of some cameras for you.”

“I don’t want it. I would take all of the hate and all of the judgement to be able to hold your hand in public.” Harry says, heart aching at the fear that strikes through the boy in response. He’s been brainwashed so hard that he doesn’t realise coming out wouldn’t be the end of the world. Fucking arseholes in suits. God knows what they’ve told him for all the years he wasn’t around.

“I can’t give you that yet. I c-can’t—“

“Are you ashamed of me?” Harry asks, swallowing thickly. Louis stops wriggling, eyes widening.

“No! What the fuck? I love you, dickhead. This isn’t just about us. There’s three other people in the band who would be affected. Plus the team. My family. Your family. Everyone would get shit.”

“And then the news will blow over, and things will continue as normal. Except..” Harry trails off, lifts Louis’ pinned hands just a bit so his biceps flex a little more. He wants to munch on them.

“Except what? Stop with the dramatic pauses, we’re not in a soap opera—“

Harry rolls his eyes and shuts him up with a kiss. It’s a bit biting, Louis trying to continue being angry. Harry lets him continue for a bit, before he deepens it, licking into his mouth slowly. Eventually, Louis’ jaw relaxes and he inhales sharply, legs tightening around him.

Harry parts their lips, and immediately moves to his neck, sucking a bruise into his throat.

“Except I’d be able to do this wherever I want. Throw you against a wall and snog you right in front of a camera. Show everyone you belong to me.” Harry murmurs into his skin. Louis shivers under him, making the prettiest whimper of a noise.

“Everyone?” He repeats breathlessly.

“Everyone in the world. They’d all see how you let go for me. How easily I can stop your loud mouth.”

“Only ‘cause I let you.” Louis says, wriggling again as he’s undermined.

“Is that how you see it, baby? Keep this here.” Harry squeezes his wrist once then releases it, snaking the hand between them. With a wave of his hand, Louis’ trousers are gone. He’s then just in his little black briefs, hard and tenting the fabric. Harry cups his cock, drags his thumb up the underside over the fabric of his pants.

“Harry,” Louis whines, cheeks flushing and eyes drifting over to Betty’s direction in panic. She’s across the whole living area and little kitchenette, around the corner in the driver’s seat, but she could definitely stop the bus and stand up to see them.

“Keep quiet, now.” Harry murmurs, then starts to actually palm him. They haven’t fooled around in a few days, and it feels like it’s been years since they’ve actually fucked. He can’t fuck Louis now, obviously, still needs control and to heal, but he definitely isn’t opposed to watching him fall apart a bit anyway.

“Please, I want.” Louis gasps as Harry yanks his pants down, curling his fingers around him, getting him wetter with every stroke. There’s a bottle of lube hidden in his duffel that he’s calling from, and the boy shakes a bit under him, jaw slacking and back arching, desperate for the touch.

With his free hand, he takes Louis’ fingers and touches them to the boy’s mouth, where pretty whimpery noises continuously escape like he can’t help it.

“Suck ‘em and be quiet.” Harry says, and Louis obeys, sucking his own pointer and middle finger into his mouth, humming around them like he tastes good. God.

He pumps his hand faster, and watches the boy’s lovely thighs tremble, his eyelids hooded as he fails to keep them open and watch.

“So good. Such a good boy.” Harry coos, and watches in awe as Louis’ head tips and he immediately comes, toes curling under him and moaning around his wet fingers. It’s so obscenely beautiful.

He’s only wet and messy for a few seconds before Harry gets rid of it and leans over him for a kiss. Louis removes his fingers and kisses back lazily, still catching his breath.

“Y’like that? Being told you’re a good boy?” Harry asks against his lips.

“No. That’d be fuckin’ weird.” Louis lies, as his body language, emotions, and stuttering breath say otherwise.

Harry grins, kisses him once more before sitting up, replacing Louis’ joggers with an easy flick.

“How about a compromise? I won’t do a stunt, but we choose Wendy’s.”

Louis giggles, reaching up to thread his fingers through his curls.

“Fine. I suppose I can work with that.”

-

Boston goes swimmingly, and a new rule is implemented to stop Harry from going anywhere near the fan-access areas when he’s nearly mobbed before the show. By the time they wake up on the 7th for a press day, Harry’s wound is healed. The scar won’t last as long as it would naturally, because he can’t fully slow his magic from its need to fix him, but they get the stitches removed before Louis even needs to leave for his panel. Besides the fresh scar and some bruising, he’s relatively back to normal.

Harry was hoping the free day between Boston and Philadelphia would mean an actual free day. As it turns out, the only free part is the lack of a gig.

“I need to leave or I’ll be late.” Louis sighs, but he’s the one doing the straddling right now, cramped on top of him in their bunk, fingers touching at the sensitive scar.

“Panel shmanel. Can’t the boys do it themselves?” Harry asks in a sigh, his own fingers tickling up the boy’s arms. He has really lovely arms.

“Not just a panel, I’m afraid. An interview, a meeting with management, and an outing with Eleanor as well.” He kisses him once more, before climbing out of the bunk and collecting his phone and wallet, straightening out his clothes and hair.

“What kind of management meeting?” Harry asks, rolling on his side and propping his head up, watching him pull his vans on.

“Dunno. Could be about the next stunt or could just be album shit. Don’t leave the bus, okay?” He steps up to the edge of the bunk, leaning in to kiss him one last time.

“But there’s a nice pub right outside. They sell pizza.”

“Yeah. Across the freeway,” Louis says, swallowing thickly, “I’m going to have lunch delivered to you. Just stay in, yeah? Please.”

Harry’s heart aches as he realises what this is. Louis doesn’t want him to cross the street. He doesn’t want him to get anywhere near speeding vehicles.

“Okay. I’ll stay in. Love you.”

Louis smiles, pocketing his phone and hesitating, then he turns and digs in his bag, before he pulls out what looks like a small medical bag.

“What’s that?” Harry asks, but his breath catches when Louis reaches into the bag, and pulls out a lovely silver chain with a familiar shiny cross hanging from it.

“It’s still not really my thing..but I prayed to this thing while you were dying. The doctor said you should have died, did you know that? He said you should have bled out, or gone into shock, but you pulled through with nothing but a scar to show for it. I just, I dunno, I feel like maybe someone was listening when I was praying. Maybe it’s stupid but I feel like if you wear this while I’m away it’ll, like, god I sound like a loon—“

“No, Lou. It’s lovely. You know before you visited me in the hospital I was freaking out because I thought it was tossed away in the chaos? It’s not stupid to think something might be looking out for us. If I can move shit with my mind I’m sure there’s plenty of other-beingtheories that are true.” He smiles, clasps the necklace back onto his neck. It falls heavy between his collarbones, the weight familiar and thoroughly missed.

“This is too big of a topic for how late I am. I love you, I’ll send in lunch at noon.” Louis lifts away from the edge of the bed with flushed cheeks and a pleased smile, eyes on the cross back in its rightful place.

“Okay. Have a good day.”

“You too, H.” Louis glances back twice before he steps through the curtain separating the bunks from the living area. Harry curls up on his side and touches at the necklace, stomach fluttering as if he’s a pining teenager.

Maybe he’s just crazy in love.

It’s still early, so he tucks the duvet back up to his chin to head back to sleep. He drifts off with a smile on his face, and dreams of wedding rings and the prettiest blue eyes.

-

True to his word, there’s a knock on the bus door at 12PM sharp. Harry stands up from his terribly boring crossword and opens up the door to find a teenage boy stood next to Alberto, likely having been escorted from the arena’s gate where fans are pretty much constantly lined up. He can hear them yelling from here.

“Afternoon. Come on in.” Harry steps aside, pausing to be a tad embarrassed, sort of shirtless and just in joggers. He’s not even wearing pants underneath. The embarrassment passes quickly, though. He’s never been particularly opposed to public nudity. It’s just, this is the first time his half nudity was accompanied by a large fresh scar across his torso, big and ugly and obvious.

“Only a minute.” Alberto says to the delivery boy, who nods and follows Harry inside. The boy sets his delivery bag onto the living space’s table and starts to unload it, voice shaky as he talks.

“One large veggie pizza, an order of breadsticks, two brownies, and um..this note.” The boy fumbles for the receipt, but drops it, face beet red and clearly nervous. Harry chuckles easily and bends down to pick it up. When he looks back to him, the boy is staring at his chest. Harry opens his mouth to explain the scar, when he realises the boy isn’t staring because of the scar. A fact made obvious when his little brown eyes lower further, to the cut of his hips, where his joggers sit lowly, then they drag slowly up his chest, then land resolutely on his lips.

Oh. The boy isn’t weirded out by the scar. He’s attracted to him. He looks about 17 or 18. Harry wonders if he’s a fan of the band, maybe. Surely must know the fans yelling outside and the escort to a tour bus isn’t exactly regular.

Harry grins and looks to the receipt.

“Tell Harry no cuddles for a week if he answers the door half naked,” Harry reads aloud. It’s printed in the ‘special requests’ space. Usually meant for things like ‘knock, don’t ring’ or ‘use side door’, “sorry about that. M’ boyfriend’s a bit of a tease.”

“So it’s true? You and Louis?” The boy asks, eyes wide and voice a near whisper. His cheeks flush a deep red. Definitely a fan, then.

“Hey, I never said that.” Harry says, but doesn’t deny it, waggling his eyebrows. The boy breaks out into a grin, hands shaking when he reaches for his carrying bag.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to—it was lovely to meet you.”

“Wait, lemme fetch you a tip.” Harry steps over to his duffel, ignoring everything the boy is saying about how a tip was left on the card. He opens his wallet and fishes out an American 20, and hands it over.

“Wh—the order was only forty bucks, I..”

“For the nice chat, yeah? You want a brownie? I’m not gonna eat two.” Harry’s surprised when the boy doesn’t protest, taking the packaged brownie when handed. Then Harry notices it’s because he’s a little preoccupied with flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. Before he can even ask what’s wrong, the boy starts to ramble.

“I just, I want to thank you. I always sort of suspected Louis was..yeah, but he never flaunted it. Then you came around and when I watched your performance in Glasgow where you wore that pink suit and waved the pride flag, I just..it inspired me to come out to my parents, so I just wanted to thank you. F-for giving people like us that inspiration.”

Harry’s heart thrums happily in his chest, and he’s smiling so wide it hurts. Immediately, he tips forward to hug the kid, who laughs wetly and hugs back, shaking a bit against him.

“I’m sorry I can’t be louder about it. I have to tame that part of myself, and I wish I could show my support better. You can post about this if you want, yeah? Spread the kindness better than I can.”

“Nobody would believe me.” The boy laughs, pulling back and wiping at his eyes.

“Here, let’s take a photo, then.” Harry reaches back to his duffle again, this time yanking out a t shirt and pulling it on.

“O-oh, won’t we get in trouble? The security guard said—“

“I might, yeah, but you’ll be just fine.”

The boy smiles and pulls out his phone. They snap a few selfies, and the boy hugs him again.

“Thank you. I hope you get to be yourself soon. Both of you.” He clutches his delivery bag and his brownie and glances over to the fairly obvious pile of Louis’ shoes, intertwined with Harry’s ankle boots, and smiles knowingly.

“Thank _you_. I hope your next delivery has the decency to wear a shirt.” Harry replies, opening the bus door again. The boy is giggling when he steps back outside, and Alberto only looks half annoyed, but it’s soft when he sees the kid’s teary eyes.

“You gave him a photo, didn’t you?” The man asks with a sigh.

“It was my idea. Tell Daniel to fuck off when he gets angry about whatever rumours appear in the next few days.” Harry says, then with a wink to the kid, he slinks back into the bus and opens up the pizza box.

The lovely conversation has made him hungry.

-

He gets an uneasy feeling low in his gut about an hour after lunch. It’s definitely not a tingle in his fingers, but it still makes him anxious. Immediately, he texts Louis.

‘Update?’

Louis thankfully texts back within the minute. ’ _just got out of the meeting.’_

‘How’d it go?’

’ _the mess is going to get a lot messier_.’ Louis replies terribly vaguely. Harry rereads the text ten times, stomach turning.

‘Are you okay?’

‘ _i’ll be back in an hour or so_.’

‘Call me.’

‘ _can’t, gotta interview. pls stay where u are x’_

Harry runs a hand through his hair, stressed, knowing somethings wrong but not being able to fix it. He stands up, fully prepared to throw his shoes on and demand Alberto to take him to the boy, when he’s sent a photo.

There’s a bit of audience in the background of the photo, Aiden sat next to him and half of Liam showing on the other side, and in the foreground is Louis’ hand, holding a thumbs up. Harry stares at the photo, and slowly calms. Louis is with the boys. He isn’t alone. Whatever mess is coming isn’t fatally urgent.

Whatever it is isn’t enough to make his fingers tingle, which means it’s going to be fine. They’ll be fine.

-

Harry’s mid-pace when the screaming outside starts. He leans against the table and waits, listening to the cars drive through the gate, the noise of the tyres against the pavement, the clanking of the metal gates rolling closed. The car doors opening and closing as the boys unload.

It’s hard to resist the urge to meet them outside, but if it’s bad he doesn’t want the fans to manage to get recording of it, so he stays put. His stomach turns the whole time, and when the bus door finally opens, he’s waiting.

Louis steps inside, and he looks a lot more tired than he did when he left. It’s a little more than he usually does when he gets home from a press day. He looks exhausted not just physically. Emotionally, as well. Mentally. It sickens the air around him, and his magic sizzles uncomfortably with the need to fix whatever’s hurting his soulmate.

“Tell me.” Harry says immediately, and gets a hand on him as soon as the door is shut and they’re alone. There’s many many emotions running through the boy, but mostly just defeat. Just utter devastation. It makes Harry’s knees want to buckle, but he pulls him inside instead, towards the couch. Louis doesn’t sit, but he pulls out his phone, navigating to twitter and handing it over wordlessly.

Harry frowns in confusion but takes the phone, looking to the screen to find Louis’ composed a tweet ten minutes ago.

’ _Thought I’d address the rumours and happily announce that Eleanor and I are in fact engaged. Thank you for the support, absolutely buzzing! xx_ ’ attached to the tweet is a selfie. Louis smiling next to Eleanor, who’s ringed hand is casually resting on his chest. There’s been rumours of the engagement ever since photos of her corpse bride Halloween costume were posted. Seems as though management’s need for a stunt just fell right in their laps.

Harry can’t breathe, suddenly. He looks up from the phone and realises it’s not him who can’t breathe. His hand is still on Louis’ arm, and the boy’s head is hanging, chest heaving.

“Okay. Okay. This is okay, it’s not like it’s actually happening. You aren’t actually engaged.” Harry says, setting the phone down and pulling him into a hug. Louis curls up against him and starts to tremble. He’s feeling too much, suddenly. Like it’s all been piling up and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“I can’t, I can’t,” Louis gasps, and then he starts to hyperventilate a bit, “please, take it away.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, arms tightening around him.

“Take it out of me. I’m going to fucking pass out. Harry, I can’t—“

“Okay, shh. Hold on, baby. Let’s try something out.” He steps out of their bubble and picks up one of the couch pillows, drops it to the floor between them, and then sets his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

“W-what—“

“On your knees, c’mon. Let’s kneel for a bit until you can breathe.”

“How the fuck would that-? What,”

“Just trust me, Lou, go on.”

Louis makes an overwhelmed noise but complies, sinking down to his knees, looking up at him in confusion.

“Back straight, hands behind your back, head down.” Harry instructs. Louis shakes but obeys, hands meeting behind his back and head bowing. Harry stays where he is, not touching him but not stepping away, and waits.

Within two minutes, Louis’ shoulders shake and he starts to cry, little heartbroken sobs escaping his lips, curling in a bit.

“There you go, let it out.” Harry murmurs, and then reaches out, settles a hand gently on the back of his neck, pulling him forward until his forehead presses against Harry’s leg. It’s a possessive place to hold someone, but Harry’s done a bit of research on his own. In addition to the ‘sex stuff’ Louis searched. He can only hope Louis trusts him enough for this to work.

Louis cries for about five minutes. Eventually, he starts to blur around the edges. His emotions settle into small waves rather than one large tsunami. His walls tremble, just needing a push to fall down. The boy sucks in a breath as he feels the change, before he starts to shift around on his knees, arms flexing like he wants to move them.

“Be still, baby.”

“Harry..” Louis whines, then starts to lift his head to look at him.

“Be a good boy.” Harry says, and firmly squeezes his hand on the boy’s nape. Louis makes a breathy noise and goes lax, mouth opening against Harry’s jogger leg.

After another two minutes, his shoulders finally fall from their tensed state, and his breathing returns to a steady rhythm. His lips purse, kissing his thigh.

“That’s it, just relax.” He murmurs, and his fingers drift from his neck up through his soft hair. Louis keens, pushing up into it like every touch is making him sensitive. Maybe it is right now.

“M’ relaxed.”

“I know. Let’s stand up and have a little cuddle now, yeah?” Harry takes his hand from his hair and offers it to help him up. Louis looks at it and makes a noise, tipping forward and nuzzling Harry’s thigh, getting dangerously close to his crotch.

“Sure you want me off my knees?” He asks in a whisper, hands still clasped obediently behind his back as he mouths hotly against his thigh. Harry sucks in a sharp breath and takes a hold of his chin, pointing it up so their eyes meet. A bit roughly, but Louis makes a desperate noise, loving it.

“Thought you were being good for me?” Harry asks sweetly, and Louis’ eyes flutter, squirming a bit before he finally takes his hand, eases up onto his feet, knees cracking from the time kneeling.

Harry gently pulls him back to the bunks, and they crawl in, tangling around each other easily. Louis is a bit needy like this, curling up and making himself somehow smaller, little unsatisfied noises escaping every few minutes.

“Time for a nap.” Harry murmurs, and Louis whines, back arching and pressing up against him, his hard cock poking against Harry’s hip.

“You don’t want me?” He replies, voice small and genuine in a way it would only be when he’s like this. Harry tightens his hold on him, lips gently kissing at his hairline.

“I’ll always want you, baby. But right now you’re a little too close to being down for us to fool around. Let’s have a nap and when you wake up clearer I’ll take care of you.”

“Please.” Louis whispers, shivering at the offer. Harry smiles, hand drifting under the boy’s shirt to settle splayed over his lower back. He loves being able to cover him like this so easily, accentuating their size differences. He always forgets Louis’ a bit small, since his personality is so large.

When he gets all soft like this, it’s a nice reminder.

“I’ll take care of you,” he repeats, just to make him shiver again, “time to sleep now.”


	5. the sacrifice

Harry wakes up to hands at his briefs and the steady movement of the bus under them. He opens his eyes and finds its quite dark outside, but the passing streetlights are enough to make Louis visible. The boy seemed to have just woken up himself, eyes sleep-puffy as they meet his.

Harry can feel he’s clear now. Back to normal, though the arousal spitting through him is a tad startling.

“Do you want to talk about what we just did?” Harry asks, knowing they haven’t discussed non-sexual d/s stuff much. Knows Louis likely wants more but will take ages to ask for it.

“Do we need to? I was going to have a panic attack. You knew exactly what I needed when even I didn’t know.” Louis’ voice is soft and airy. Beautiful.

“It was a successful guess, but we shouldn’t do that. Not with something as precious as nearly getting you to subspace. I can’t guess wrong or the trust can be compromised.”

“Sounds a little extreme. Don’t think a wrong guess would break my trust. I’d just tell you if something wasn’t right.” Louis says, fingers still toying with the waistband of his briefs.

“Except it would. By the time you realise it’s not what you want, you may already be at that pre-sub grey area you were experiencing earlier.”

“As if your magic wouldn’t immediately tell you I was uncomfortable. Fine, let’s talk about it. The kneeling thing is good. The hand on my neck thing is also really good. Effective. Not much else to say, is there?” Louis’ cheeks are pinked now, eyes resolutely on his lips and not his eyes. Harry smiles, leans in to give him a sweet kiss.

“Just want you to be comfortable with discussing it. You can ask for anything, too. Anything you might want.”

“I want to ride your face.” Louis says with a sly grin, as if he’s making some broad request as a joke. And yet, Harry can feel the jolt that zips through him, his thin fingers twitching on his waistband.

“Alright. Gonna be a bit cramped in here, though.” He reaches down and tugs Louis’ pants down, copping a nice feel of his arse. The boy laughs, eyes wide.

“You realise it’s the middle of the night and we’re on a freeway, right?” Louis asks, as if Harry doesn’t notice the fact that the bus is moving. They should be halfway on their way to Philadelphia by now.

“You’re the one who asked. You taking it back?” Harry leans in, kisses his jaw. Louis makes a noise, kicking off his pants the rest of the way and rolling them over so he’s on top.

“As if. Gotta take what I can get since you refuse to fuck me.” Louis says dramatically. Harry chuckles, though it quickly dies down when the boy begins to crawl up his body, clutching onto the wood slats of the bunk above them so he doesn’t topple over. He pauses at his chest, touches the tip of his hard cock to Harry’s chin.

“Have I told you how pretty you are?” Harry asks, then sucks him in a bit. Louis twitches and pulls it back out of his mouth.

“Only every time we do this. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels, “been wanting my mouth on you every second since the first time.”

Louis huffs a laughs and finishes moving over him, head bowed with the lack of space between this bunk and the top one. Then his knees are on either side of Harry’s head and he seems to hesitate a bit. Likely, he hasn’t done this position before.

Harry reaches up and takes his hips, pulls him down and gets his tongue on him immediately. The position leaves Louis’ balls in his face and his thighs wrapped around his head. It’s hard to breathe, and it’s so fucking good.

Louis is already whimpering a bit too loud, so Harry blindly takes the boy’s free hand and lifts it. He seems to take the hint, because then his moans get muffled, fingers in his mouth.

Harry licks inside of him, loving the way he clenches in response like it’s not enough. He reaches down to palm himself, getting off on getting Louis off.

The boy starts to rock his hips, rolling them against his face and moaning every time it makes Harry’s tongue seep in deeper. God. Neither of them are going to last long, that’s for sure.

“Fuck, please.” Louis moans around his own fingers, gloriously hot. Harry’s magic thrums, soaking in every ounce of pleasure they’re both experiencing.

Harry groans in response, jaw aching deliciously, hand pulling himself off. When he comes, he gets dizzy with it, the pleasure overwhelming when mixed with the lack of oxygen.

Louis rocks his hips three more times and follows suit, thighs shaking around his head and clenching tightly on his tongue.

The boy removes his fingers from his mouth and eases off of his face, down his chest and settling on his hips. His cheeks are pink and his hair is mussed like he was running his own hands through it.

“There’s come in your hair.” Louis murmurs, sweeping his finger through the mess on his abdomen and lifting it to Harry’s mouth. He sucks his own come off, loving the way it makes Louis’ eyes darken.

“We should probably talk about the engagement.” Harry says, flicking his hand and ridding of their come. Louis rests over his now dry chest and frowns, closing his eyes.

“Can we watch a movie instead? It’s not that big of a deal, the panicking earlier wasn’t just about that.”

“I know, but a big factor to the panicking is the lack of talking about things. You’re bottling it all up.”

“I don’t like to complain.” Louis sighs, touching at his wrist again. Harry chews on his lip, looking at the way their skin looks over each other.

“Do you know a good tattoo artist in New York?” He asks, completely changing the subject.

Louis lifts his head, and his grin is absolutely blinding.

-

On November 9th, Harry walks into a tattoo parlour knowing fully well that getting a tattoo that reminds him of someone is sort of the biggest thing he was warned not to do when he first started getting into ink.

Only, it’s different this time. This isn’t some ugly banner with Louis’ name in it or something. It’s vague enough that nobody will know it’s about them, but Louis is his soulmate, so does it matter anyway? He’d gladly get a hundred tattoos for him. They’re destined to be together forever.

Harry goes it alone into the room itself, just for that element of surprise, and Louis begs to know what it is the entire drive over. Harry manages to avoid it by staring and pointing in awe at the city around them. He’s never been to New York, and it’s rather packed.

There’s something about it, though. Something charming about the city. He wants to spend more than the two days they have here. Wants to explore and see a musical and walk through city park.

Alas, he’s sort of getting recognised more and more lately. To the point where Alberto’s been assigned to him when they’re all together. The man and Louis are sat in the lobby of the parlour when he gets out of his appointment, Louis mid-story about getting his first tattoo.

Harry tucks the sleeve of his jumper into his fingers, smiling slyly.

“Show us, c’mon!” Louis says as soon as he’s out, hopping up from the chairs and bounding up to him with a grin. Alberto follows, looking mildly interested but mostly bored.

“I’ll show you in the car.” Harry replies, tucking his hand behind his back and smiling at the way the boy pouts deeply. They step out of the parlour, and there’s a few fans waiting for them, a handful of paps keeping a distance, thankfully.

Louis immediately heads over to take photos, and many of them ask for both of them to be in the photos, much to Harry’s pleasant surprise. He’s still not used to people wanting photos with him, still doesn’t think he’s relevant enough for that. They’re still chatting with fans a few minutes later when a car’s tyres screech down the road from them. It’s not really near them and the screeching is short and only the result of a too-fast sharp turn, but immediately Louis freezes.

Harry watches him stop, eyes wide and panicked, the air around him buzzing with fear.

“Sorry, loves, we gotta head out before we’re late.” Harry says to the fans apologetically, and touches a light hand to the space between Louis’ shoulder blades, feeling his dread as he leads him to the waiting car before anyone can notice his suspense.

When they’re safe behind the tinted windows, Louis immediately reaches for him, touching his cheek, his neck, and settling at his pulse point.

“Sorry,” he huffs, annoyance flickering through him. It’s at himself, though, which just simply won’t do.

“Don’t apologise for traumatic stress you can’t control.” Harry replies, pulling him close to press a kiss to his temple as the car starts.

“Can I see it now? Need a distraction.” Louis sighs, reaching down and brushing his fingers over Harry’s knuckles.

“Alright. It’s sort of vague, but the first time I thought about getting a tattoo here, you were holding my hand while I was nervous before that first show I did in Manchester. It, well, it anchored me a bit, and I started noticing you’d do it all the time, just touch me here when I was feeling antsy or whatever. Like. Dunno how you always knew. Maybe it’s stupid—“

“Rambling, love. Just show me.” Louis laughs, and Harry flushes, nerves fluttering through him as he pulls his sleeve up. The bandage is clear over the anchor, inked over the top of his wrist, raised up and fresh.

“I-it might be vague..” Harry trails off when the boy’s fingers drift up from his knuckles, brush ever so softly over the bandage, tracing the anchor. The fear fades so quickly it’s surprising, awe seizing up in him and making Harry’s heart stutter.

“You do that for me too, y’know. You keep me grounded. God, I can’t believe you got a tattoo because of me.” Louis runs a hand through his hair like he’s stressed, but there’s nothing but exhilaration running through him when Harry turns his hand, touching him back.

“You like it?”

“Can you,” Louis sucks in a breath, glancing over towards the front seat where the driver sits, Alberto in the passenger, then leans in to whisper instead, “can you get your shit under control? Wanna let you have everything.”

Harry swallows thickly, eyes fluttering closed when Louis ducks his head, pointy teeth scraping at his jaw. Why isn’t he under control yet again? It’s getting harder to remember.

“We’re currently driving to Madison Square Garden. Don’t think there’s much more I can think to have.”

Louis just smiles, and he’s hiding something. Harry knows not just because of the spike of adrenaline he feels, but the deceit as well.

“Bet I can still surprise you.” He says, vague as all hell. Harry immediately narrows his eyes, mouth opening to question it, but then they’re pulling up to the huge stadium, and Harry’s promptly too busy gawking to address it.

-

He nearly forgets about it, until the next day when they arrive at the stadium for the second show and Louis takes him to the dining hall, filled with catering and people mulling about, and says he’ll be back in an hour.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks immediately, reeling him in before he can jump out of the room. Louis turns to him and raises an eyebrow, patting his cheek as if it’ll distract him.

“Just off on an errand. You stay here and write with the boys, I won’t be long.”

“Lou—“

“Don’t worry, darling,” Louis tilts up to press a kiss to his cheek, then his nose, and then his chin for good measure, “can’t ruin the surprise. Paul will be with me the whole time. Love you.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, slinking out of the room with a mischievous grin while Harry watches him go with a pout. He stands around aimlessly for a few minutes, until the boys call him over to the table they’re spread out on. Right, writing.

He sits to help them finish songs, because it’s his job and because Louis is safe with a buff bodyguard. There’s no tingling in his fingers and nothing to worry about.

Still, he can practically feel the distance growing between them, and the ache starts within ten minutes, and stays.

When Louis returns nearly a full hour later, they’ve completed a few great songs to show Julian in a few weeks when they get to LA, and they’ve just finished one of the demos when Louis steps back into the room with a grin and a denim coat he definitely wasn’t wearing before. He beckons him with a finger and steps back out.

Harry immediately abandons everything he was doing and meets him in the hallway outside of the dining room where they were writing. It’s not exactly private, but it’s definitely away from most of the eyes of the crew and the band.

“Don’t say anything. Just look.” Louis says as soon as he’s close enough. He chews on his lip and takes his arm out of the denim coat so then it’s just hanging on his shoulder, and then he extends his hand to him.

Harry’s eyes widen at the familiar clear bandage, one matching his own over his anchor. He takes Louis’ hand and lifts it to see, feeling his nerves and his excitement.

It’s a rope, wrapping around his wrist and fitting perfectly around the little quotes he’d already had. Harry’s breathing stutters as he realises their new tattoos will line up when they hold hands.

“You..matched my tattoo?” Harry asks, heart pounding as he tears his eyes away to meet his. Louis is smiling softly, cheeks a bit pink.

“I told you, you anchor me too. Can’t have an anchor without a rope, yeah? God, the shippers are going to piss their pants.”

Harry laughs, a bit watery, and pulls him in for a hug, wrapping as much of himself around him as he can.

“I love you. I’m gonna..we’re going to test my control tonight.”

Louis holds him tighter, nodding against his shoulder.

“Yes.” Is all he says, but it’s sounds like more. Feels like more in the way he breathes shakily. More in the shiver that zips down his spine. Before, Louis’ impatience for sex was funny. Easy to tease.

Now, Harry’s in it too. Needs it, really. They’re nearing December. He offhandedly wonders when causing rainstorms will become causing blizzards.

He doesn’t intend to find out.

-

“Harry, if you could hurry the fuck up I’d really appreciate it.” Louis sighs, fully nude and squirming on the bed while Harry slowly unbuttons his shirt, looking his full. They’ve gotten a nice hotel room and everything, he doesn’t plan to take it for granted.

“Can’t rush this. Then I’d definitely lose control.”

“How does it work then? You just tell the magic to fuck off?”

“No. Can’t exactly do that. What I do is focus on it. Keep in centred in one spot rather than extending from me. When we do this, it’s here.” He touches the cross on his neck, the silver shiny and buzzing with his magic. If it weren’t real silver, it’d surely break.

“Should centre it onto me ‘fore I take care of this m’self.” Louis says, reaching down to get a hand on himself.

Immediately, Harry reaches out and slaps it away.

“Be good or you get nothing.”

“Could tie me up, make it a little easier.” Louis suggests, then sucks his pretty lip into his mouth. Harry’s stomach swirls with the thought, but he controls his breathing carefully.

“Can’t, actually. I have to be able to control myself without playing before we even consider that.”

“Thought we couldn’t fuck without accidentally playing?”

“If I’m not in control, yes. That’s why we’re here testing it. To see if I can maintain control.” Harry climbs into the bed, touches Louis’ hip and grazes his fingers over his lovely skin.

Louis gets prettier every time he takes off his clothes, somehow. Harry’s in awe, a bit, and has to close his eyes and take a deep breath when he sees goose pimples chasing his grazing fingertips.

“Just gonna touch me all night?” Louis asks in a murmur, eyes swimming with want when Harry looks up to him. He smiles, ducking his head and latching onto his hip, trailing wet kisses across his belly, up his torso, teeth grazing his left nipple. Louis makes a sigh of a noise, fingers reaching into his hair and sweetly brushing through the strands.

“I can if you want.” Harry replies, continuing up and touching kisses to ever available spot.

“Want you to give me what you promised in Donny.”

“Can’t tonight. Just a tester, remember?”

Louis huffs impatiently, reaching down and circling a hand around Harry’s cock, squeezing him nice and tight, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

“Want this, then.” He says, legs spreading a bit subconsciously. Harry’s nodding before he even finishes asking for it, jaw slacking when Louis twists his hand over the head, thumb swiping over his slit.

“Might have to stop at any point. Don’t have too high of expectations.”

“Isn’t there some way I can help?” Louis asks, eyes dark under his eyelashes as he offers himself up as help. God.

“Just. Don’t let me get too riled up.” Harry murmurs, and immediately Louis takes his hand away, trails it up his chest instead.

Harry flicks his hand and the lube appears when beckoned. He looks down between them, sitting back on his heels so he can get a nice view as he circles his wet fingers around Louis’ rim. He’s all pretty and pink, the want practically coming off of him in waves.

The boy makes the loveliest sound when Harry tucks a finger into him, hands shifting around on the bed. There’s something going through him. A sort of almost annoyance. Harry looks away from the way his pretty thighs are framing him, up to his face, and fits another finger into him.

Louis’ eyes flutter like they want to close, arms drifting up above his head and clutching the pillow. Every time he opens his eyes, that feeling shoots through him again.

“What is it? What’re you off-put by?” Harry curls his fingers, smiling at the way his back arches immediately when his prostate is pressed to.

“M-more.” Louis pleads, reaching for him like he wants Harry to get on top of him. Only, if he did he wouldn’t be able to watch. Get the whole picture. He likes looking down to see his fingers, and also being able to trail his eyes up his wriggling body.

“Wanna watch. Be patient.” Harry says, and Louis huffs, hand gripping the pillow underneath him as he looks away, lips pressed together in a thin line. Oh. _Oh_ , Harry realises why he’s annoyed now. It’s because he’s watching. Probably making big obvious heart eyes, too.

“Beautiful,” he says, watching the flush immediately darken Louis’ cheeks, “you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Louis doesn’t deny it, but his body does. The small disbelief that always appears when he’s complimented is hardly overshadowed by the pleasure of it. Of being praised. The sub side to him needs it, though. Needs to be praised.

“God, baby, can’t even be with you properly ‘cause you drive me so crazy.” He continues, sliding in a third finger, stretching him out. Louis moans, pressing back against him.

“M’ready.” He says, reaching down to pull him up again. Harry doesn’t go, continuing to pump his fingers as he trails the others up his thigh, the muscles underneath his skin jumping as he’s pleasured.

“Feel what you do to me?” Harry asks, sliding his hard cock across the boy’s thigh instead, dragging precome onto him.

“Harry—“

“Feel it?”

“Yeah.” Louis whispers, and finally turns his head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed when their eyes meet. He squirms a bit. Harry smiles, pulls his fingers out of him and climbs up, arm to the headboard as he leans in for a sweet kiss. Louis’ thighs lift and tighten around his hips, his hands running over his arms.

“I’m so lucky,” Harry whispers, trailing his lips over his jaw, “loveliest boy in the world. So beautiful. I can’t look away.”

“Stop. Y’making me blush.” Louis says, giggling when Harry start to pepper kisses at his hairline.

“Gonna tell you every day until you believe it.” He replies, coating his cock in lube as they share a sweet kiss. Louis gently pinches his side but doesn’t sass.

“Even when I’m old and wrinkly?” He asks, and Harry remembers the premonition he had the last time they actually had sex. Louis, 40 something, wrinkles permanent at the corners of his eyes, smiling at a child. His child. _Their_ child?

“Yeah, especially then. You’re gonna age like fine wine.” He mostly means to joke, but Louis reaches up, pulls him away by his chin.

“How do you know?”

Harry gulps. He could say literally anything to explain it away. Could say it’s a guess, or that it’s clear from how he’s aged already that he will, but would that be a lie? They promised no more lies. He figures the best way to go is to keep it mysterious.

“I just know.”

“You’ve seen the future haven’t you?” Louis asks, eyes filling with mirth and grin taking over his face. Harry smiles, rubs his wet fingers over the boy’s waist.

“I’m sort of not human. Don’t act surprised.”

Louis laughs gleefully and pulls him in for a kiss.

“God. How many kids do we have? Where do we end up living? How many cheesy matching tattoos do we get? What-“

“Slow down. It’s not like that. I’ve only gotten one little flash of something. I never purposefully look ahead. It’s not set in stone, either. The future can change and alter from the smallest shit. Even if I knew any of those answers, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“No fun,” Louis reaches up and tugs on a curl, “can’t believe I’m dating a magical being and he won’t even give me what I want.”

“I think I know what you want.” Harry murmurs, then presses the head of his cock to Louis’ rim, raising an eyebrow. The boy bites his lip, breath stuttering in anticipation.

“Give it to to me, then. Been waiting ages already.”

So he does, pressing into him slowly. He can feel the pain spike in the elder, so he takes it slow. Only, Louis huffs and pulls him in, mouth slacking and tugging him closer to ask for more.

Harry curses under his breath and hikes his leg up, burying himself in Louis deeply, their smiles falling away to heavy breaths and moans. It feels like coming home, in a rather rude way. They haven’t fucked in forever, and he’s been aching to get back into this. Back into the tight, warm, toe-curling feeling.

His body isn’t the only thing that’s been aching for it. His magic tumbles inside of him, much like the thunder barely audible from across the city.

He comes to a stop immediately, closing his eyes and tucking his face into Louis’ neck, trying to reel it back in. It’s close to the surface, pulsing right back out of the necklace and through his veins. Desperate to get to Louis, feel him closer than he could ever have him otherwise.

“Deep breaths.” Louis murmurs, hand resting on his cheek, curling his hair around his ear. Harry complies, breathing him in and fisting the sheets underneath them as he regains control.

The moment the blur recedes, he pulls back and slams into the boy again, and again, over and over until Louis is moaning loudly. Likely, every surrounding room can hear them.

“F-fuck, harder.” Louis keens, a pretty shiny sweat forming on his forehead, feathery hair framing his face like a halo. Harry gives him exactly that, pitching his hips into him aggressively, the bed groaning in protest at the movement.

Louis moans loudly, breathlessly, and he starts to lose it a bit, hands shaking and sliding up above his head like he’s pretending he’s tied up. Does he even realise he’s doing it?

Harry presses into him again, over and over without faltering even once. He can feel himself slipping a bit, and more worryingly, can feel Louis slipping a bit, that blurriness starting to creep along his edges like he could drop with a bit of convincing.

“Yeah, yeah Harry.” The boy moans, and when he opens his eyes to meet his they’re golden.

Harry stops immediately, and when he starts to pull away, Louis follows, reaching in to pull him back without even realising it. Harry whines as his magic protests to the loss, lightning crashing across the sky and painful ache flaring in the centre of his chest. He has to stop touching him, has to break the connection between the boy and his magic before it forces him down.

In just a millisecond, he’s across the room, up against the far wall, clutching the bannister of the toilet doorway, eyes wide as he catches his breath, forcing his magic to chill the fuck out, room spinning a bit with the quick teleport.

Louis sits up, eyes finding him and exhaling shakily. His knees bend, thighs pressing together as he looks at him. It takes a full three seconds for his eyes to return to their natural blue.

“What happened?” He asks, breathless, spoken so softly that it likely wouldn’t reach mortal ears.

“I lost control. Your eyes turned gold. Could you not feel yourself dropping?” Harry asks running a hand through his hair as rain starts to hit against the windows outside. His magic is screaming at him to return to his soulmate, angry with the loss.

“I suppose now that I think about it, yeah. Hard to think straight and realise..during. Are you okay?” Louis clutches the sheets beneath himself, eyes flickering between the quickly wetting windows and him.

“Yeah, just. Need a minute. Hard to resist the pull.” Harry says, breathing harshly. Louis sits up further, and the pretty dim lights fall over his chest, a bit shiny from his sweat and Harry’s mouth. He’s still hard, too. Probably clenching over nothing without Harry inside of him. Fuck. It’s too much, really. He can feel his hands tightening too much, threatening to break the wood of the toilet’s doorway under his fingers.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Harry chokes, and tries to squeeze his eyes closed so he doesn’t see him, “can you cover up? My magic is f-fucking furious.”

“I’m sorry. I want to help but I feel like touching you would probably have the opposite effect.” Louis says, and there’s some shuffling. Harry opens his eyes, and Louis’ pulled the hotel duvet up to his neck, just his mussed hair and pretty eyes looking at him.

“I love you, but if I get any closer I’m going to lose it. I need—I’m going to come back, okay?” Harry tilts his head back against the wall so he can’t see the fear and disappointment etched on Louis’ face. He can already feel it in the air between them, his magic reaching out and desperately sucking at anything it can.

“Where are you going to go?”

“As far as I can. I don’t know how long—please don’t move,” he can hear the bed shuffle, “I’m sorry. I can’t lose control. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He opens his eyes, maintaining eye contact as his clothes appear on his body, his phone beckoned to his hand. Louis’ eyes fly down over him as he’s suddenly dressed, mouth slacked in awe.

“Okay. Please don’t hurt yourself.” He says, sounding a lot like he wants to protest but doesn’t, teeth sinking into his lovely lip, eyebrows knit together in frustration. He’s so beautiful.

“I won’t.” Harry swears, and then within seconds, he’s on a rooftop. His magic screams in protest at the port, and he falls to the hard concrete of the roof as each additional kilometre between he and Louis settles deep into his gut. His magic surges through him, and immediately it’s raining. He’s on his back, so it falls right onto his face, the rain sharp and painful.

“Fuck.” He says out loud, clutching his chest at the ache that takes over him full-bodily. He hasn’t been this far from Louis since they met, can feel the distance like a rubber band pulled tight, wrapping around his whole body and begging him to return. Knows Louis was close to falling into subspace. Knows he’s likely confused and worried and everything in between.

More than all of that, knows he has to regain control before he can get even close to touching him. His magic will take over if he goes back. Will seep right out of him and into Louis, and Mark’s warning rattles through his brain heavily. It’s dangerous. Dangerous for both of them. One flicker of his magic in the wrong direction and then they’re jumping god knows how many years forward or back. Harry hasn’t even attempted to jump, knows it can alter things badly. If he and Louis accidentally jumped, he’d have no clue how to return to their time.

He takes deep breaths best he can, trying to listen to the sounds of Toyko’s bustling city the hundreds of stories below him. Can’t quite seem to grasp anything tangible. Can’t think of anything but Louis and how badly he needs to return to him.

It’s not working. He can’t get control. He needs a distraction. Something enough to shut himself down before he causes an earthquake.

Porting always makes him woozy, but he does it again, and then he’s in a house, lying soaked on a bedroom floor, carpet dampening by the seconds below him. He gasps painfully at the vertigo. At the distance he’s porting within such a short time.

“Harry? Harry, can you hear me?” Lottie’s face appears in his vision. Her face is nude of makeup, hair braided neatly over her head. Right, it’s sort of the middle of the night.

He’s too weak to speak, so he just reaches for her, tries to convey his emotions, tell her what he needs. She reads him with knit eyebrows and a slacked jaw.

“Okay, okay, shh. Please be quiet or you’ll wake the twins.” She dons the same soothing voice Louis does, and he only then realises he’s gasping with every breath. Lottie scoots her knees right up to his ribcage, seeming not to care that he’s soaked, and places her hands on his cheeks.

Within seconds, everything fades.

He’s up above the back lawn of what is probably the house the Tomlinson’s grew up in, leaning in a windowsill of a treehouse, the pretty summer sun beating down over the grass. Down below, a teenage Louis steps out of the sliding back door, and starts over to the tree, hands wringing in front of himself.

“Lou’s coming over.” Harry says, his voice high and distinctly female. He has to remind himself its a memory, and he’s in Lottie’s body. It’s Lottie speaking, not him.

“Is he bringing biscuits?” Another girl asks, and Harry- _Lottie_ turns away from the window, and reveals the inside of the treehouse, where a little girl sits in a beanbag reading a fashion magazine. Félicité.

“No. Reckon mum’s calling us in for chores?” Lottie asks, leaning back in her own seat with a sigh.

“Girls? Alright if I come up?” Louis asks. His voice is loads more familiar than the first memory where he was a young child. He must be about seventeen or eighteen in this one. 

“Yes!” The girls chime, and then Louis pops up into the treehouse from the latch, smiling nervously. His hair is long and swooping over his forehead much like it does now, but he’s much smaller, arms bare of tattoos and wearing what seems to be toms. Cute.

“Wanted to come talk to you two. You know how I’m headed for x-factor next week?”

“Yeah.” Fizzy replies, setting down her magazine as both girls seem to hear the shake in Louis’ voice.

“Well..I’ve been feeling something for a while now. I um, I thought out of everyone you guys might be the best to ask about this, since you’re both around puberty now and, like, getting around the age of liking boys—“

“What is it? Did you and Hannah break up?” Lottie asks, looking over to Fizzy in surprise, but the girl’s smiling in a strangely knowing way, reaching out for Louis and taking his hand.

“You can tell us, Louis.” She says, voice so soothing despite her young age.

“Well, it sort of is about Hannah, actually. I don’t think. I think..I think I might like boys? Instead?” Louis sucks in a deep breath, looking between the both of them with pink cheeks, knuckles tight where he holds Fizzy back like a lifeline.

There’s a few moments of silence, and then,

“So..are you and Stan going to date?” Lottie asks, and Louis blinks in surprise for a few seconds, and then he laughs, reaching over to push her gently.

“No! Stan’s my brother, you little shit.”

Lottie giggles, reaching over to push him back, but she can’t quite do so with Fizzy reaching in to hug him. Lottie follows along, and then they’re all three hugging.

“Have you told mum?” Lottie asks when they pull away from the hug.

“No. You’re the firsts. Bit daunting, innit? Feel like she might hate me.” Louis wipes at his eyes, definitely glossy after that hug.

The dream flickers, and then Louis is backing out of the latch, telling them he loves them and thanking them. Like a sort of missing spot in her memory, unable to be filled with anything.

She turns back to Fizzy, who is just smiling down at her magazine again. The memory is starting to blur a bit more at the edges, teetering towards the point of forgotten space.

“How did you know?” Lottie asks, and Fizzy looks up from her magazine, eyes so blue and smile just like her mum’s. Just like Louis’.

“Saw it last night.” She says simply, and then like a light switch, it’s over.

Harry blinks rapidly as reality returns, hands clenched against the carpet below him, Lottie’s pale walls and high ceilings coming back to his vision. She removes her hands from his face, and reaches down to his wrist, seeming to take his pulse.

“She got premonitions.” Harry states, not a question. It’s strange to hear his own voice rumbling from his chest again. Just like the first time, it sounds too deep.

“Quite often, yes. She couldn’t seem to control it. It would come in the form of dreams, and sometimes I’d wake up and she’d be in my bed looking horrified, and when I asked what was wrong she’d just say something weird like a date or a place. Every time, I’d see something on the news. Big terrorist attacks or some natural disaster.”

“Wow. Mine are so small, just little flashes for big things. They’re always personal to me, though.” Harry feels calm, now. His magic not quite so on edge. There’s no patter of rain outside. Still lingering, the ache of the distance between he and Louis. He doesn’t think that will ever leave, really.

“I always thought she was cursed, in a way. She could never control them, and I always knew something was going to happen because she wouldn’t let me touch her, thinking I’d feel the impending doom and change something. She..she went to London for three full months and didn’t visit and I didn’t realise why until mum passed. She knew it was going to happen. Didn’t want me to know.”

“That’s horrible. I wish I could’ve known her.” Harry murmurs, reaching for Lottie’s hand when her eyes well. She smiles and squeezes his hand. And then no more words need to be spoken.

He gives her comfort, and she returns it. They speak through emotions, building each other back up in tandem. There’s nothing like a shared gift. Harry’s only ever experienced it with his mum, but she never really liked to talk through their magic, always tried to keep him acting as human as possible, preparing him for the world and how he will have to be around everyone else.

It’s nice, though. Lottie lifts the moisture from her carpet and him, and helps him up from the floor. He’s lightheaded from the double port and how much distance he traveled, so she sneaks downstairs and fetches him a cuppa.

Then, they sit and murmur quietly to each other, careful not to wake the rest of the family. They talk for hours, they cry together, they laugh together, and then they spread pillows and blankets over the floor and watch Friends as the sun rises.

Harry finds himself thankful for Louis once again. Not just because he found his soulmate in him, but because through him, he found a friend who truly understands his everyday struggles.

-

Belly full of tea and snuck-in crisps, the port back to New York doesn’t quite take so much out of him. Getting his energy up with nutrients beforehand is definitely a good tip to remember.

Louis is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, eyebrows furrowed like he’s having a bad dream, circles dark under his eyes and hand clutching his phone like he was waiting for a call.

Harry takes a moment to feel guilty, because he knows Louis had to have been worried, can’t possibly fully understand that he needed to get away.

His magic thrums happily being in the same room again, but definitely not in the chaotic uncontrollable way it was last night.

He settles down onto the bed, crawling up under the duvet and taking the phone from the boy’s hand, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. Immediately, he feels what he already knew would be there. Worry and helplessness and guilt, as if it’s even remotely his fault. The boy wakes with the jostling, and immediately pulls him in, hand tucking up against his chest, the other reaching up to touch the thin skin under his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep?” Louis asks, eyebrows only knitting further. Harry’s sure he’s got just as deep under-eye circles as him.

“You didn’t either. It’s not your fault, by the way. I just don’t have complete control yet. I’m working on it.”

“Stop readin’ my guilt,” Louis says, but doesn’t feel mad, then suddenly, a spike of confusion, “did you go to Doncaster?”

Harry blinks in surprise, glancing down between them to see if he’s wearing a banner or something. How could he possibly know that?

“How could you tell?” He asks, a bit breathless. Louis smiles, finally, face smoothing out all sleepy and perfect.

“I can smell the Yorkshire Tea. I assume there’s not many spots ‘round there you’d frequent.”

“I had to get away from you, but didn’t want to get away from _you_ , if that makes sense.” Harry murmurs, knowing he can’t mention Lottie. Louis doesn’t know his sister holds the same gift he does. Doesn’t know his step-dad trained him. Can’t give him this information. On a less serious note, his heart swells with fond at the way Louis can name brands of tea just from his breath.

“That’s cute. I, um, I didn’t sleep much either. Kept feeling all achey. Like a more extreme homesick feeling.”

“It’s your soul. It knows we were far apart. It’ll be like that probably forever every time we part. Now that we’ve found each other, distance between us will hurt a bit.”

Louis hums thoughtfully, and tilts his head forward like he’s initiating a kiss, but hesitates, eyes meeting his in a silent question.

“I’m alright now. Magic’s all settled. If anything, we need to touch more so I can practice the whole control thing.” Harry says, brushing their noses together softly.

“Okay. I’m glad you came home.” Louis murmurs, cheeks very lightly flushing with the confession as he leans in to kiss him. It’s funny how he says ‘home’, as they’re lying in a hotel in America, an ocean away from where either of them actually live, but he still says home. Harry can’t help but feel exactly the same, though. Because Louis is his home. No matter where he is, home will always be where the boy is. For his whole life, he always considered home to be, well, the house he grew up in. Sat in Holmes Chapel with his mum’s warm smile and the streets he spent his childhood exploring.

The moment he met Louis, that changed for him. Strange, how suddenly he doesn’t miss his old creaky bed and his creme walls back at mum’s house, the way he always did while feeling homesick during med-school. No, now when he thinks ‘home’, it’s blue eyes and kissed-red lips. The picture he sees when he separates them now.

“I love you.” He breathes, wishing there were something more he could say for how he feels at that moment. Something bigger to really express it.

Louis smiles, hand on his jaw shifting, thumb dipping into his dimple, only making it deepen.

“I love you.” He replies softly, just the same.

“I’ll always come home. No matter what happens or where you are. I’ll never be gone for long. Physically can’t, actually.” Harry huffs a laugh, and Louis touches another kiss to his lips, a gentle peck of affection.

“Can’t believe my life is a Nicolas Spark’s novel.” Louis sighs, fingers tickling up to his hair, touching at the soft strands. Soft and a bit frizzed from the rain, but it doesn’t need to go mentioned.

“Just wait ‘till you hear my vows,” he replies, grinning at Louis’ answering flush, “let’s sleep, we gotta get up in a few hours and load back into the bus for Pittsburgh.”

“Mmhm.” Louis replies, pretty much already there, eyelashes fluttering against his jaw. Harry smiles, body quite drained of energy from the teleporting and the emotional distraught last night.

He pulls Louis closer, feeling his content and letting it seep into himself, lulling him to sleep within seconds.

-

Tour goes on.

By the time they make it to Pittsburgh, Louis has written a song called ‘No Control’ which is an immediate contender for the next album. In Toronto, Harry tags along on their press day and during an interview, the interviewee asks the boys if they’ve noticed the ‘Harry Styles to join 1D setlist’ petition, now sitting at a casual _one million_ signatures. The boys laugh, and Harry tries not to get giddy with excitement just at the thought.

In Chicago, Louis blows him in the arena’s toilets and sends him off to write with Aiden during Jane’s opening. Harry finishes off three of Aiden’s songs, feeling ‘strangely’ inspired. In Indianapolis, they don disguises and have a date at the Indianapolis Zoo. Harry tells him a joke he made up at age seven when they’re looking at the giraffes, and Louis laughs, the sound recognisable enough that at least three teenage girl’s heads turn.

After those ‘sneaky’ zoo photos were circled around, Louis has to have a pap date with Eleanor in both Detroit and Minneapolis, but it’s sort of worth it. Then, in Austin, Louis surprises him with Niall, who fanboys for hours and nearly passes out (again) when he’s shown to the box seats. He and Harry go out for drinks with the whole band afterwards, and they all get pissed. Obviously, everyone instantly falls in love with the Irishman, as Harry expected they would. When he flies back out to London, it’s with a promise to return in a few weeks to see them in Mexico City.

With nearly a month having passed, its almost easy to forget death looming over them. Until he’s rudely reminded, of course.

His hangover definitely does him in, and he sleeps the entire bus ride to Houston from Austin the next day. Maybe if he didn’t drink so much, he’d be awake to notice the tingling in his fingers. Maybe he would remember that death isn’t going to keep away for long. He’ll always return. The scar down his torso should be a constant reminder of that, and not just something to make him shiver when Louis runs his tongue over it.

But no, he’s quite asleep when the bus comes to a halt. He doesn’t wake up when the doors open and close. Doesn’t wake up until ten minutes later when Betty is stood over him, shaking his arm.

He jerks awake, head pounding immediately, the sunlight through the windows definitely too bright.

“Wha—?” He doesn’t finish asking why he was woken, because the tingling in his fingers isn’t quite just a tingle, it’s up his knuckles, over his hands and threading up to his wrists.

At once, he’s getting out of the bed.

“Tommo said he needed to purge and didn’t want to stink up the bus. Can you go check on him? It’s been a hot minute and if I smell sick I’ll puke myself.” Betty’s saying, and Harry doesn’t even need to hear everything. He knows he won’t find Louis hurling. Won’t find him anything but dead.

“Sure. He’s probably more cabin-fevered than anything. I’ll go fetch ‘em.” Harry says, voice sounding casual to his own ears despite the pounding of his heart. He doesn’t bother with shoes or even a coat, stepping out of the bus and finding they’re parked at the edge of a field, and it feels rather nice out despite being nearly December, hardly even a chill in the air. Texas really is something else with the weather, it seems.

The field goes on for a good few kilometres, trees surrounding the edges. The plant of the field is tall, up to his chin. If Louis stepped in, he’d be too short to be seen from the buses, though it’s unlikely he went too far in if he were just puking.

He doesn’t need to call out for Louis, just simply follows where his magic guides him, just a few metres into the tall waving grass of the field. He’s lying on his back, eyes open and vomit in a trail down the side of his mouth and piled under his head, blood seeping out with it. If Harry had to guess, he thinks it may be a stroke or something. Maybe a seizure of some sort, choked on his own sick. 

Harry settles down next to him, grass crunching under his knees, lifting the boy’s head and closing his eyes at the way Louis’ blood and vomit spills out of his mouth and onto him, and suddenly wonders if his children will ever have to see him like this.

The thought takes his breath away, a bit. Another darker thought, then, as he wonders if Louis gives his sperm for a child, how does death approach it then? Does he move onto their child, or does he not care and just continue for Louis? What if he decides both need to go? Because Louis should be dead and therefore so should any potential children? Can Harry keep them both okay? Can he spend his life bringing back his husband and his child? Maybe multiple children?

There’s so many unknown variables. For the first time, he wonders if maybe saving Louis the night they met was a mistake. How this could affect the people around them.

When Harry had woken up that first day back in October with a light tingling in his fingers, maybe he should have known something was going to go wrong. Maybe he should have known that saving Louis meant a constant shadow over both of them. With a start he realises a man now sits in prison because of him. A man who nearly took him out with his car. Would he have driven under the influence if Harry didn’t change the natural order of events? Would that electrical box that took Louis out have shocked someone else? Or did these things only happen to attempt to maintain death’s list?

Now, sat in an empty field in fucking nowhere America, covered in blood and vomit, he realises he couldn’t save everyone. He couldn’t save Louis and their children too. Not if it’s going to be extreme like this for each one of them. He knows his limits, has had them drilled into his head from the moment he was old enough to retain words. He knows he shouldn’t mess with the natural order of things. He knows that what will happen will happen one way or another either way, and the longer he prolongs it, the more shit that will come of it. Maybe it can hurt the people around them. Maybe by saving him he’s hurting others. Others who weren’t even originally going to be involved.

And yet, he can’t control himself. For the third time, he settles his hands on Louis Tomlinson’s still heart and wills it to beat once more. He can’t let it happen. He can’t let death take him. It goes against everything in him. Maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t let him die. His magic won’t allow it. His soul won’t allow it. His heart won’t allow it.

Can’t give the Tomlinson family another person to grieve over. Can’t give his _own_ family another person to grieve over, either, because he knows what will happen if Louis truly dies.

Knows he will follow right after him.

“F-fuck, that’s not a pleasant taste.” Louis says, voice a rasp, colour still returning to his cheeks as his blood pumps through him again. Harry flicks his hand, ridding of the blood and vomit from both of them, and helps the boy to sit up.

“Better? Did it go dark this time?” Harry asks, running fingers through his hair, picking out dried leaves and dirt.

“No. Hasn’t since the shower. Dunno what happened. Just fuckin’ collapsed. Think it was alcohol poisoning?” Louis touches a hand to Harry’s wrist at his pulse point, the only tell to the fear coursing through him. He’s getting better at dealing with dying, not as disoriented and not crying as he usually does. It’s not particularly a good thing.

“Not sure. Let’s head back before Betty comes out here.” Harry stands up, head just above the spiked tall plant of the field. He thinks it may be wheat. He looks back to the bus, where sure enough Betty is standing outside of the open door, waving them over.

They make their way back, Harry steadying sort of both of them with hands on the boy’s hips, and the whole ordeal isn’t quite an ordeal when they excuse it to Betty, making something up about the lack of privacy on the bus. She cackles and tells them to please refrain from having sex in a field in Texas, please.

That’s the point they’re at. Death ending with a sex joke. Harry settles back into the bunk to continue sleeping off his hangover, and Louis joins him. The uneasy gut feeling in him doesn’t go away.

This time, he listens.

-

Three hours after the Houston show ends, Harry lies awake with Louis gently asleep next to him, drooling adorably on his shoulder. It’s nearly enough to distract him from the underlying feeling of impending doom.

He never has to ask to meet, Mark seems to always just know. Maybe he should’ve realised earlier just how often the man probably looks to the future.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Mark asks, clad in pyjamas and leaning against a tree. The forest he’s grown up learning magic in feels different now that he’s seen the real place. The leaves aren’t quite waxy enough. The moss under his feet isn’t exactly soft enough. Small things that make the difference between reality and a soulplace.

“I need to know how to fix it. How do I placate death?” Harry gets right to the point, has a feeling he doesn’t need to explain the whole situation. Mark’s always just known things.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that one. Your situation is different from any experience I’ve had. I found out the hard way that I can’t postpone death, and yet you’ve done it multiple times.”

“You tried to save someone?”

“I did. Our magic isn’t meant to meddle with death, H. I wish there was more information on soulmates. I wish I could say you aren’t the only ones I’ve met.”

Harry sits down heavily, head in his hands.

“I can’t stop thinking I’m making things worse, but I can’t let it happen. He’s..he’s _everything_ , Mark. I know it’s horrible but I don’t think a million people dying because of this could make me let him die. I know that makes me a monster—“

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mark steps up to him, settling a chilly hand on his shoulder, “nothing you can think or do will stop yourself from saving him. Everything that is you, inside and out, will always fight against Louis feeling pain, let alone death. It doesn’t make you a monster to acknowledge that. What you feel for him is beyond love, and even I couldn’t begin to understand it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about our kids finding him dying one day. Or worse, him passing the shadow onto them. There must be a way to stop it. There must be.” Harry looks to Mark desperately, and the man presses his lips together in a thin line.

He doesn’t need his magic to be able to see the worry hidden in his eyes, the press of his lips, the downturn of his eyebrows.

“What is it? What do you know?”

“You know I can’t tell you, son. Just..you can’t control everything, okay? You can’t let this kill you.”

“Can you not speak in riddles for once in your life and just tell me what to do?” Harry pleads, because he knows Mark is holding something back. Information, the future, tips that might help him. He knows he’s holding back because this information could change things, and not always for the better, but it’s still frustrating. If Harry doesn’t know what to expect, how can he know if he’s making the right decisions or not?

“Just go with your gut, alright? Try not to overthink everything.” Mark claps his shoulder, and starts to back away.

“Mark, please..” Harry complains, but it’s too late. The forest fades and he’s back in the bunk, Louis’ soft breathing in his ear.

Harry turns his nose to the boy’s hair with an overwhelmed sigh, and tries to keep his crying quiet.

-

They get to LA on the 29th, about a week later.

The uneasy feeling has calmed to just that. A feeling sitting in the back of his mind. Like the darkness in Louis, ever present, but easy to distract himself from. He knows something isn’t right. Mark’s way of holding back only confirming that, but it’s not a tingle, so he chooses not to think about it much. Chooses to because Mark said not to overthink, and he’s not really one to ignore that man’s advice.

He finally meets Julian, and they spend nearly every minute around the LA shows in the studio. Harry listens in as the boys actually record the songs. He’s helped write nearly all of them, and it makes his chest flutter with pride. He even helps out, offering ideas for key changes or harmonies.

They record the entire album in those two days mid-tour, and leave for Oakland on the first of December. Julian sees them off, left with hundreds of recordings to pick through. Multiple takes of the same lines of each song by each band member, tasked with deciding how to fit them together to form the songs.

Harry would be lying if he said the whole process isn’t exciting. He can only hope to be able to do it himself one day. Be the one in that booth singing, Louis on the other side of the glass smiling.

In Oakland, he records himself singing and playing guitar for an acoustic version of Sweet Creature and uploads it on YouTube, remembering those nice fans asking him for official recordings. It’s not an official recording, obviously, but after watching the boys record, he’s a bit inspired to get his songs out. Heard.

And they are.

The video hits 5 million views by the time they get to Vancouver. Then in Seattle, he’s told that ten different people asked if he could come to the VIP meet and greet before the show. In Portland, he actually does go, and leaves with pink cheeks and sore fingers from the amount of signatures he was asked for.

Gemma texts that night and says someone at her uni asked her for his number.

It’s baffling, really. Why people give him so much attention. Especially with the whole damn band of One Direction in the same building, how they can come to him. Ask for his signature. A photo. Just a conversation.

After the show ends on the 5th of December that night in Portland, Louis takes him back to the bus and they immediately go to sleep, even though it’s hardly midnight. It’s well deserved, and they sleep easy knowing they can sleep in the next day.

There’s a gap in the tour, is the thing. Ten days between Portland and their next show in Rio on the 15th. Ten entire days to relax after moving non-stop for months.

Harry should be excited for the break. The fact he gets to actually spend time with Louis. Relax with him until they fly out to yet another country he’s never been. He should be excited.

He doesn’t know why, but he just isn’t. Because with every passing day, that uneasy feeling just seems to ache a little more. And he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what’s coming, or if this ache is a sign of something bigger than fingertip tingles.

Can’t help but feel like nothing good is coming. Mark said to trust his gut, and his gut isn’t happy.

-

They spend the entire day of December 6th in bed.

It’s not just the exhaustion of the tour, either. Something’s up. Harry can feel Louis’ ache of dread, though small, slowly bubbling up to the surface as the day goes on. They’ve gotten a really nice suite, up on a high floor looking over Portland. It’s really a rather nice city. The whole west side of America seems lovely all around, really.

Not quite as lovely as a whole day lounging in a bed with Louis Tomlinson, though.

“What inspired No Control?” Harry asks, fingers petting over the soft dip of Louis’ nude waist, desperate to make whatever is bringing him down disappear, if only for a moment.

Louis smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Harry aches to know what’s wrong.

“You really need the answer to that one?”

“We’re practicing. Interviewers are going to ask about it when the album comes out.”

“Alright,” Louis reaches up to tap at his chin like he’s pondering it, “well, I think what inspired it is the ongoing case of blue balls caused by my boyfriend’s magic not letting him dick me down.”

“Oh my god, you can’t say ‘dick me down’ in an interview.” Harry scoffs, barely able to contain his laughter. Louis’ mood isn’t enough to stop his humour, apparently.

“You’re right. I meant to say he’s not _making_ love to me. That better?” Louis asks, blinking at him innocently. There’s mirth in his eyes. Harry chuckles, leaning in to kiss him. It’s irresistible.

“Yeah, but try not to expose my magic to the entire world, if you can help it.”

“No promises.” Louis murmurs, eyes fluttering when Harry’s lips trail elsewhere.

Not even pleasing him gets rid of the dread Louis’ feeling. Something’s off. He can only hope Louis will tell him, because he sure doesn’t want to ask about it and ruin the good mood of the day.

-

Harry wakes up early on the seventh, fully expecting to be up first. He’s always up first. Louis seems to hate mornings with a passion, especially when they only get a minuscule ten days off to relax.

Nine isn’t _early_ early, though. He sits up, spotting Louis at the little table on the other side of the suite, tapping at a laptop, hair a bit damp like he’s just showered.

“Morning. M’gonna head down to the gym, wanna join?” Harry asks, sitting up and stretching. Louis doesn’t even glance over.

“Can’t. Gotta work on this, don’t distract me.” Louis says a bit quietly. He looks really fucking cute in glasses, nose scrunched up sassily.

Harry spends a good handful of minutes watching him with a smile. Wants to ask what he’s working on but doesn’t want to distract him. Eventually, he climbs out of the bed and pulls on a pair of long shorts.

“I’ll be back in a bit. Love ya.” Harry says, eyes down at his phone, setting up his workout to record it down.

“Love you too.” Louis replies, and Harry turns and heads out of the room with a keycard, too pumped up for his workout to even think to kiss the boy goodbye or even see what he’s up to. They’ll still be in the same building, it’s fine.

The moment Harry’s gone, Louis stops typing and slumps in his chair, head in his hands, and doesn’t move even a centimetre for the hour and a half he’s alone.

-

Harry doesn’t realise something’s truly wrong until about half and hour after returning from his workout. He’d showered, ordered room service, and messed around on Instagram until it arrived. Louis has moved on to writing, it seems, eyes narrowed in focus as he writes on a notepad.

“Thank you.” Harry says to the woman who’s delivered their breakfast. He rolls the small tray into the room, peeks under the tops to see the sizzling bacon, stomach rumbling. He’s stood next to the door, so when he looks over to Louis to tell him the food’s here, he can see the notepad from this angle.

He isn’t writing music. He’s doodling, it seems. His knuckles are white on his pencil, hands shaky as he traces the same square over and over again. It hits him suddenly, that the last time Louis woke up before him, was the day after the shower incident. He notices the things he should’ve the moment he woke up. The tense of his shoulders, the way he’s breathing very deliberately slow, like anything faster might cause a bomb to explode. His hands are shaking very slightly, but he’s trying to hide it.

“Lou? What’s wrong?” Harry asks, immediately moving towards him, guilt swimming in his stomach for not noticing the stale ache in the air between them. He was so dreaded yesterday, how could he not realise that meant something was coming?

“Nothing. Is that bacon I smell?” Louis asks, voice too high to be casual, slamming his notepad closed and standing up, eyes wild and jaw set as he moves towards the food. Harry reaches out to get a hand on him, and Louis flinches away, taking a full step back so his hand falls short. He pulls away.

For a moment, they just stare at each other in surprise.

Harry inhales sharply, eyes searching his, because Louis promised he wouldn’t do this. He promised he’d never pull back. There must be some sort of hurt showing on Harry’s face because Louis slumps a bit, and steps in, reaching out and taking Harry’s wrist, fingers circling his anchor.

He lifts it, and hesitates, eyes closing and taking a deep breath. He looks guilty and he hasn’t even done it yet.

After a moment, he lifts Harry’s wrist the rest of the way, and settles his hand on Louis’ cheek.

Harry gasps hoarsely as the raw emotions fly into him. Louis’ always felt strongly in a way that’s overwhelming, but right now it’s stronger than its ever been, surpassing Harry’s hand and drifting up his arm and right into his own centre.

Grief.

It’s undeniable. There’s no other emotion quite like it. It’s dark, like a parasite eating at everything good and joyful. Louis’ feeling it in such a horribly strong way that Harry’s knees buckle a bit, tears immediately welling up in his eyes.

Louis catches him, other hand at his elbow, and they slowly lower to the soft carpet below them, knees knocking.

“Don’t overwhelm yourself.” Louis murmurs softly, takes Harry’s hand from his cheek, but not before Harry can feel the guilt. He knows now why the boy didn’t want to be read.

“Baby,” Harry chokes, at a loss for words, tears spilling from his eyes. He sees it now, the grief etched over his face. Said beautiful face breaks a bit and Louis crawls forward, right into his lap, hands reaching up to thumb his tears away as his lips press to his forehead. Harry holds him right back, hands drifting to the small of his back, breath catching at the second wave of the emotion. How the fuck is Louis so composed when he’s feeling this much? How can he always do that? Seem so fine when he’s so much the opposite?

“I’m sorry. I know I promised not to pull away but it’s just..a lot. Didn’t want this to happen. Today is, um, I hate to call it an anniversary but. My mum. Yeah.” Louis closes his eyes, tilts their foreheads together. Oh. It’s the anniversary of his mum’s passing. Harry frowns, pulling him closer to press soft kisses to any sliver of skin available.

“I’m so sorry. Can I, like..can I hold you? Maybe all day?”

Louis smiles sadly, fingers petting at his hair.

“That’d be really nice.” He whispers.

Louis doesn’t actually accept his feelings and start to cry for a few more hours. Harry’s right there to catch his tears, though, and by the end of the day Louis is smiling, telling him a bittersweet story of the time his mum caught him sneaking out when he was 14 and instead of giving him a huge reprimanding, she brought him to the kitchen and they baked homemade cookies at 2AM with soft laughter until little 14 year old Louis got guilty and apologised on his own. He says he’d never tried to sneak out again, and Harry hangs on his every word.

The uneasy feeling in his gut is ever present, still, as they fall asleep that night. More than anything, he hates that today wasn’t the reason for it.

-

They decide to head back to LA for the rest of the small break. Louis takes him back to Julian, saying they’re going to check up on the progress.

Julian’s finished two of the songs, and they listen to them with smiles. Afterwards, the man claps his hands and swivels in his chair, eyes meeting Harry’s.

“So! You ready?”

“Ready for what?” Harry asks, looking to Louis for help, but the boy is just grinning, eyes all sparkly like they are when he’s excited.

“Tommo here says people are asking for studio recordings of your songs for Spotify? I’ve got the band here ready to learn. You have your songs, right?”

Harry’s still blinking in utter surprise when Louis reaches into his large coat pocket, pulling out his leather bound journal and handing it to the man.

“I..d-don’t these things cost? Like—“

“Everything’s taken care of. Anonymous donation.” Julian wiggles his eyebrows, and Harry looks over to Louis who’s just smiling, quite pleased with himself. It’s not hard to figure out who the donator is. As if he could ever stay anonymous.

“Lou,” Harry breathes in disbelief, and then he’s tackling him and they’re falling out of their chairs to the floor. Louis laughing gleefully as Harry kisses him everywhere.

“Harry! You’re gonna crush me!” The boy shouts, but he can’t stop laughing, and there’s pride and excitement flooding through him. Harry lifts away, but only to kiss him. It’s quite the drastic difference from the day before. The joy he’s feeling is strong, and he can’t help but feel proud that he can be the cause of that.

“I love you.” Harry says the moment their lips part. Louis smiles, reaching out to flick Harry’s hair from his forehead.

“I love you too, but I might kill you if you don’t get up and record your songs. We don’t have this studio booked forever, y’know.”

That night, after a long arse day and five finished recordings waiting to be green lit by Spotify, Harry gives his thanks by pressing Louis down to the bed and rimming him until he’s crying and begging to be fucked. So Harry tucks three fingers into him and continues licking around them until the boy comes with a sob.

It’s a good day.

But the uneasy feeling has shifted to an actual ache, and Harry’s on edge. Something’s coming, and he doesn’t know what.

-

The ache doesn’t leave for the entire break. They finish his recordings, Spotify accepts them and they’re posted. Twitter nearly explodes. They go on three dates and are lucky enough to avoid being mobbed.

The moment they fly out to Rio, two days before the first returning show on the tour, they step into their hotel and that ache seems to stab him a bit. Like a kick in the arse. Harry stops in his tracks, setting down his duffel and looking around the nice hotel room, trying to figure out what is happening.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, stepping up and touching his hand, held over his stomach as the ache throbs.

“Stomach ache. Could be the jet lag?” Harry asks, scrambling for any excuse that isn’t ‘I think we’re genuinely going to die soon’.

“Don’t think stomach aches are a symptom of jet lag, doc.” Louis replies, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Harry knows it can be. Can even result in diarrhoea if it’s really bad, but he figures saying this might just raise his suspicion.

“M’ not a doc. Didn’t even come close to graduating yet.” Harry murmurs, pulling Louis closer as he’s momentarily distracted by the mischief flowing through him. What could he possible be mischievous about right now?

“When we get back to London you can finish it out. Cut into people all day. Our kids are going to have fantastic health coverage. Can get all the cosmetics they could possibly want.” He says it slowly, eyes on his, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Oh, that’s what it is. He’s trying to turn him on.

Only, talking about children and health care isn’t just that simple with them.

“Don’t talk domestic with me unless you want a repeat of that time in the rental car.” Harry murmurs, pulling him closer, back hitting the wall behind them. Louis grins filthy.

“Want you to get me pregnant again.” He says, cheeks flushing, a twinge of embarrassment fluttering in him, but he doesn’t look away, holding eye contact. How does he know every trick to get him dizzy already?

Harry sucks in a breath, and with a flick of his hand, they’re both nude, falling to the bed together, Louis touching at his own belly like he can feel a baby inside or something. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. It shouldn’t make Harry’s cock throb and his heart flutter. But it does. It really fucking does.

It’s a long night.

-

He wakes up on high alert.

The ache in his stomach pounds, and after days upon days of not knowing why, he realises it was a sort of premonition when he turns and hurls right onto the bed next to him. It comes out of him forcibly, and he realises immediately it’s his magic pushing the sick out, not his stomach rejecting it.

Somehow, he knows he’s been poisoned. Maybe it’s his magic, or maybe it’s the smell of dark evil mixed in with his sick.

He sits up and finds he’s restrained to the bed with ropes. He yanks his wrists and ankles and the ropes split easily with his increased strength.

Climbing out of the bed, he finds the classic signs of a struggle. The sheets of the bed thrown around, shit knocked over, their luggage spread around the room, the door slightly ajar. They’d just fallen asleep last night, right? He can’t seem to remember anything more than just falling into bed after eating dinner. Now the rooms in a tip and Louis is gone.

_Louis is gone._

He finds a note, sat on the food tray they’d gotten from room service last night. A ransom note typed on a typewriter. It says they’ve given Louis a sedative. That they require 10 million for him to be returned. There’s a problem, though, and it’s the fact that Harry’s enhanced nose can smell it.

He can smell the poison they’ve snuck into the food. The dosage too high. Enough to have actually knocked him out, something his magic usually wouldn’t allow. Strong enough to knock him out means it’s definitely strong enough to kill a mortal. Without a doubt would. He can smell the poison all in the food they’d gotten last night. Mainly, the chocolate covered strawberries they’d eaten.

Without a doubt in his mind, Harry knows Louis is dead at that very moment, and likely has been for a while, judging by the way the tingle isn’t just in his fingers, but spread over him like a blanket of anxiety.

His magic thrums angrily. Not in loss of control way like before, but a way that it knows his soulmate is hurt at the hands of others. Within seconds, he’s ported to the roof. Rio’s quite fucking large, but it doesn’t matter how much distance they put between he and Louis. He will always be able to find him.

His feet lift from the roof, and then he’s flying, the cold morning wind beating against his face. It’s hardly dawn, so the lights of the city are most of the light provided as he flies high enough above the buildings that he won’t be spotted, something deep in him remembering not to be exposed.

They’ve taken him quite far, to the outskirts of the city at some sort of compound on the edge of the water.

Harry lowers himself to the rooftop of the large container building. There’s guards with guns scattered below. People talking frantically at the doorway leading into the building, more people guarding the tall front gate, others loading boxes into trucks. If Harry had to guess, he’d think it’s likely a cartel.

He enhances his hearing to listen to the men arguing at the entrance, and despite them not speaking English, Harry understands them. It’s something he didn’t even realise he could do. Instant translations.

“You were only supposed to give him one! We have to rid of him before they find the note. How the fuck are we meant to get a ransom without a live body?” One of the men is shouting. He’s saying it to a younger boy, who’s eyes are wide, dressed in what looks like the hotel’s staff uniforms. It’s a stupid move, because the hotel will have caught them on camera. Likely if he were dressed in the uniform he wasn’t covering his face, so they’ll be able to get him recognised by plastering his face on news stations. It definitely wouldn’t take long, either, with Louis’ status. Clearly these people aren’t the smartest at this sort of thing.

Not that it matters. Harry doesn’t intend to leave here today without taking this whole operation down.

“I’m sorry! I thought I was just supposed to put in everything. I wasn’t told how many were receiving it!” The boy pleads.

“Quiet. You won’t make this mistake again.” The first man says, and then he lifts his handgun, and shoots the boy between his eyes. The shot is loud, but the guards scattered around don’t even flinch. It’s a testament to the area they’re in if they can freely hand out gunshots without worrying about someone calling the police.

Harry sucks in a breath and stops listening to that, looking away from the boy’s body slumping to the ground and following his magic’s tugging to the back of the building. There’s a guard at the backdoor, blocking his way in. Harry lowers himself silently from the roof and without a single ounce of hesitation, lands on the man’s shoulders and snaps his neck before his mortal brain can comprehend he’s even being touched.

The backdoor is locked, so Harry removes the entire fucking door with a flick of his hand. He reaches down to the dead guard, picking up a large knife from his belt, and steps inside. He doesn’t take a gun, not wanting extra attention. The interior is rather bland and nasty, dark with the flickering fluorescents above. The smell of cocaine is strong, wafting through the air in a way a regular nose wouldn’t be able to smell.

Harry walks silently down the corridor, and stops at a door, his magic guiding him, telling him which way to turn. There’s a small window on it, and he looks through to find two guards in front of a room. His magic pounds through him, telling him to go in. Louis is through there. He knows he is.

He opens the door, and throws the knife. It flies through the air and lands in the side of the first guard’s throat. The second guard only has time to gasp in horror before Harry ports up to him, yanking the knife from the first guards neck as he’s mid-fall and slicing the second’s throat. Blood splatters out of the both of them, and they fall to the floor, choking on their own lives as they bleed out too quickly to even attempt to call for help.

There’s three more people inside of the room, standing around a metal slab table. An oven open on the wall like they’re going to fucking cremate the boy.

It only takes about five seconds to rid of the three men, and Harry’s absolutely covered in blood when he pulls out his phone. He makes quick work of sending Paul a pin of his location, along with a simple ‘bring maximum backup when you come’.

Louis lies stiff on the slab, skin grey and open eyes pale of colour. He’s been dead for at least a few hours. It’s too late. It’s too late to save him with just his magic. He can’t do his usual thing. He can’t just get his heart beating and simply convince his soul not to leave. It already has, likely only a sliver of himself left.

Harry picks him up, and sets him on the floor, climbing on top of him. Fucking idiots deal with drugs and can’t even sedate a man without killing him.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll fix it. You’ll be okay.” Harry murmurs, and settles a hand on his chest, just above his heart. He works up a sweat as he wills his heart to beat again, pumping blood through him. He can bring his body back, but bringing his soul back after all this time will be difficult. Unheard of. Harry doesn’t even know where to start, how to do it. How to do it without lasting effects. How to do it without killing himself in the process.

His magic seems to know, though. Somehow, Harry feels like only one of them will make it out of this alive.

He’s definitely not going to let himself be that option. 

So with the hand on Louis’ chest, he closes his eyes, presses his face above his hand, and wills his own soul to transfer.

“Take mine. Take everything, please.” Harry begs in hoarse whispers, not even knowing who he’s really praying to. He begins to cry in pain as he magic seeps out of his hand, into Louis. It hurts, to give himself in a way that’s different than he’s done before. This isn’t just giving energy to bring Louis back to life. This is calling him from a place he shouldn’t be able to return from. This is..

Well, it’s a sacrifice.

Louis’ chest heaves, and he makes a vaguely conscious noise, moaning in pain as his soul returns to his aching body.

Harry gives everything he has, and then some. He gives and gives until he can’t, and the world around them blurs, darkens. He feels Louis’ hand reach up and grip his bicep with a strangled gasp, and then he falls.

He falls to darkness, knowing he likely won’t wake up again, and not caring even a little bit about that fact. He is probably going to die today. Probably won’t be able to come back. Tell him he loves him. Beg him to keep going without him. He can’t do anything more than this, hand over his chest willing him to take without anything in return. Despite all of this, he’s content with his decision. Louis will lose his soulmate, but he will live.

He will be okay.


	6. the truth

Harry’s awake, but somehow not.

He’d been alone in that scary void of nothingness for what felt like days, crawling and desperately trying to find the next step forward, failing every time. That same darkness Louis experienced in the shower. The in between. Somewhere in the middle of life and whatever comes after.

He tries to open his eyes, but he can’t quite find the energy to do so. He can smell the hospital sterile scent. He can taste the tube running in his mouth and down his throat. He can feel a hand holding his wrist tightly. Most importantly, he can hear.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Tomlinson, but the likelihood of him waking up is near impossible. His brain activity was very low in his last scan, and we fear that within the next few days it will falter to none.” A female voice says, voice sympathetic in a way only a doctor’s can be. He’s in a hospital _again_ , fuck.

“But there’s still a chance?” That’s Louis’ voice, raspy and heartbroken. Harry wants to scream, trapped in darkness and unable to hold him, tell him he’s here.

“I don’t want to give you false hope. At this point, we should discuss the next step. If you want to keep him plugged in here or in an in-home facility—“

“Of course I want to keep him plugged in. I don’t..I don’t understand why I’m the one making these decisions? His mum is a phone call away!” Louis’ voice raises in panic. Harry fights against his own body, willing himself to wake up. Open his eyes. Move his fingers. Anything.

Nothing happens. He’s trapped. Trapped in his own body.

“Mr. Styles has listed you as his power of attorney. Because he’s a legal adult, his mother has no say in his medical decisions. You must decide what to do while he is unable.”

“What? When the hell did he even do that? I never signed anything, how am I meant to know what he wants—“

“Please, take a breath,” the doctor says soothingly, calmly, “I don’t know when he filled the paperwork, but he doesn’t need your signature. He must trust you enough to know what he wants.”

“C-can I have, like, five minutes? To think about it?” Louis asks, voice shaky. Undoubtedly, he’s crying. With Harry’s vision out, he can practically smell the salt of his tears, can easily picture the clear drops falling from his pretty eyes.

Would do about anything right now to see those eyes. His most favourite eyes in the whole world.

“Of course.” The doctor says, and then the sound of a door opening and closing. Harry can feel the bed dip next to him, Louis’ soft fingers touching his cheek, drifting up to his hair, where he gently combs through the strands. The touch is soothing, and sort of exactly what Harry needs in the midst of his still panic right now.

“Hey, love,” Louis murmurs, sniffling, “don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I’m a bit lost. Can’t remember for the life of me what the fuck happened before I died, but I think you gave me too much this time. Forgot to save yourself when you saved me again.”

He laughs, but it’s short and void of any joy. Heartbreaking. Harry wants to scream. He wants to push against whatever is holding him back from waking and just hold him. Assure him it’s okay. It feels like sleep paralysis, almost.

“I know you’d hate this. You wouldn’t want to spend forever hooked up to tubes while I cry at your side, but I just..I have a feeling you’re in there. Maybe it’s stupid and false-hope but I feel like you’re going to just open those pretty eyes and we’ll go on to the next show of the tour. Continue life as if we aren’t completely fucked up all the time.”

There’s moisture on his collarbone, and then lips at his shoulder. Louis leans onto him, and cries for a bit, and it’s horrible. Horrible because he can’t fix it. Can’t even lift his hand and touch him to see if his magic can still prevail and calm him, show him he’s here.

“I’m so sorry, Hazza. I’m sorry you got stuck with me, saving m’life every couple of weeks, killing yourself in the process. I wish I died that first time on the rooftop, y’know. I wish you’d let me go and then you’d be just fine. Studying to be a surgeon and saving so many more lives much more important than mine,” Louis sobs a bit, then he clutches the fabric of his hospital gown, turning his head to his nose is to Harry’s jaw.

“But at the same time, I’m not sorry at all. Maybe it’s selfish but I’ve never been happier in my entire life than I am with you. Sometimes I can’t even tell you I love you because it’s just not enough. It’s like, I feel more than that for you. God, I sound like a fuckin’ loon. Please just wake up. I can’t even think right now,” he pauses, taking a breath, “you know I bought a house in London? I was going to surprise you next time we go back. I can’t go there alone. I can’t even walk out of this room without getting this ache in my chest. I just need you, okay? I need you to come back to me.”

Harry wants to cry. He wants to kick and scream and do anything to show he’s here. Anything at all. He pushes against everything he has. Every boundary between them. His magic swirls weakly with the request, surging through his still body as he wills it to.

There’s what sounds like a small explosion. Louis gasps in surprise, head lifting from his shoulder. Harry’s sluggish and exhausted brain takes a moment to realise it was a light bulb shattering somewhere in the room. His magic prevails, as it turns out.

“Okay. I hear you, darling. I’m right here. Just hang in there, yeah? Take your time. I love you so much. I love you.” Louis takes his hand, voice an absolute shake, and Harry can feel everything. The emotions flying through him like a crashing aeroplane. One thing leads above the others, calms Harry while simultaneously frustrating him.

Hope.

-

Hours have passed and Harry’s finally fully relaxed, Louis’ soft breathing against his torso and his hand calm in his in a way only sleep can bring.

Funny, how the only way Harry can push through the dark barriers and wake up is to relax, rather than the fighting tooth and nail he suspected he’d have to do. His soul drifts through every part of him slowly, waking up limb by limb, his magic swirling through his veins and coaxing him back from whatever dark place he was trapped in.

He opens his eyes sluggishly, and it’s dark, just the lights of the hallway through the glass wall across from the bed casting over them. Louis is asleep, hand in his and cheek against his stomach. Harry takes a breath, trying not to panic at the feeling of the tube going down his throat. He knows if he breathes too harshly it’ll choke him, seize his throat up and even cause the tube to move painfully.

So he squeezes Louis’ hand, breathing steadily and slowly as the boy hums, lifting his head in sleepy confusion.

Their eyes meet, and just about every emotion that possibly can run through the boy does. He sits up, making a gasp of a noise as he slams his palm into the call nurse button on the wall next to them. He’s so beautiful. Harry can’t believe he gets to see him again. Can’t believe he gets to continue on after how much he gave.

“Hold on, love, just hold on.” Louis takes his hand in both of his, breath stuttering as a nurse rushes into a room. It’s a bit chaotic, then, flashes of scrubs and people talking over each other as the intubation tube is removed. Someone saying it’s a miracle, someone else giving him a checkup, and Louis’ hand in his the entire time keeping him anchored.

“Lou,” Harry rasps as soon as the tube is out, and immediately falls into a coughing fit. People filter in and out, and he’s sat up in the bed and given water for his throat.

“Hey,” Louis sits on the bed, opposite the side of the doctor who’s taking his blood pressure. He’s smiling, all watery eyes and a bit of scruff along his jaw like he hasn’t shaved. Harry reaches up and touches the facial hair, eyebrows furrowing. He was smooth when he died, so it must’ve been a few days that he was down.

“How—?” He winces, throat flaring, but thankfully the boy seems to know what he’s asking.

“You were out for almost two days. We’re still in Brazil. The team’s working on the legal shit and the press is having a fuckin’ field day. Dunno why some drug cartel in Rio decided to take a random dude in a band, but it’s a huge story.”

Harry brushes his fingers together in the money signal, and Louis nods with a hum, petting at his hair. Harry closes his eyes, leaning into it. He knows that’s not exactly it. It wasn’t really exactly money that guided that cartel into a kidnapping scheme. Louis was destined to die again.

He wonders if that cartel would’ve bothered with a petty kidnapping if he hadn’t saved him that first time. If there’s some alternate universe where Louis fell from that ledge and this cartel never bothered. Just how far will it go? How deep with the butterfly effect spread?

“Alright, well, you seem fine for now,” the doctor who’s still in the room says, her accent thick, “we can keep you here for some observation but consider it a miracle. It’s rare, but you might as well have been brain dead before you woke.”

“Thank you.” Louis says for him, and then they’re alone. The boy turns back to him, and with Harry’s hand on his arm, he can feel the hesitation and nerves spike as soon as they’re left. He’s hiding something.

Harry squeezes his arm gently, tilting his head in question, wishing he could talk.

“I feel like this might be a lot to spring up so soon after you’ve woken but..I can’t hide it.”

“Whassit?” Harry asks in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m not sure. I, um, I woke up with it. It burned like hell for about two minutes, and now it just feels like any other part of my skin. Just..I’ll show you, but don’t freak out.” Louis takes a breath and reaches down to the hem of his jumper, and lifts it all the way up to his neck.

Harry’s breath catches.

Just above his heart is a handprint, all five fingerprints clear, and the edges of a few fingers, some spots lining the edge of his palm. It’s Harry’s hand, exactly where he placed it when he gave himself up.

Most startling of all, is the fact that it’s golden. Shiny and sleek just like that first time Louis went down and his skin turned gold, only it seems to be permanent, like some sort of strange tattoo or something.

Harry reaches up breathlessly, and settles his hand perfectly over the print.

The feeling is indescribable.

It’s almost like touching his mum or Lottie, knowing they are like him, but it’s so much more. He can feel him deeply, all the way to his core the same way he did when the boy fell into subspace. Only this time, his magic is fluttering. Not quite the out of control thrumming it usually is.

“I can feel you.” Louis whispers, choked, placing a hand over his so he doesn’t take it away.

“What?” Harry asks, heart pounding in his chest.

“I can feel you. Awe and confusion and..I think the big fuzzy thing is love?” Louis’ eyes are glossy, and their emotions bounce between each other, strong and intertwined.

“How is this possible?” Harry whispers, the painful scratch of his throat barely noticeable right now.

“Don’t know. I get what you were saying now, when you tried to explain it that time. I can feel you just here.” He puts pressure on their hands over his mark, eyes still wide and glossy.

Harry pulls him closer, kisses him gently, feeling the love sizzle between them like grease in a pan. It’s overwhelming, is what it is. He takes his hand away, but only to trace his thumb over the gold marks of the print. It just feels like skin. Nothing raised, no differentiating texture. He wonders if it hurts.

“Can you feel it?” He asks, clearing his throat and trying to make the scratchiness go away.

“No. S’ like a tattoo, just like ink in my skin.”

“I need to meet with my trainer.” Harry says, a bit overwhelmed with questions, lying back against the pillow. Immediately, panic spikes in the boy.

“Don’t go anywhere—“

“Oh, it’s not a physical thing, it’s a soul meeting. It’ll be like I’m dreaming. I’ll still be here. Can you get me discharge papers while I’m out?”

“Okay.” Louis nods despite his lingering confusion, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his temple, thumb sweeping over his cheek, before he slides off of the bed and steps out.

Harry watches him go and then lies back, eyes closing. He knows he won’t need to wait long. Mark always knows.

“I assume you have questions.” Mark says with a smile within a minute later, already waiting in the middle of the small clearing. Harry nods, clearing his throat and enjoying the small fact that he doesn’t bring along his symptoms here. No sore throat.

“Loads. Mostly just..what happened? I thought I was dead.”

“You were, for a minute. Your magic wouldn’t let you go, though. Likely because it knew your loss would kill Louis. I’m willing to bet you would’ve actually died in that situation if you hadn’t met him.”

“A comforting thought.” Harry huffs, crossing his arms with a smile. Mark shrugs sheepishly, adjusting his glasses.

“As you know I’m sort of learning as we go, but my theory is you formed a sort of bond beyond your soulmate bond when you saved him. Because you gave a piece of yourself, sacrificed for him, he gained a visible proof of that. A piece of yourself wouldn’t have such an effect if it were someone like me being saved, like us. But Louis is mortal, so by giving yourself, you gave him a piece of that magic.”

“Yeah. When I touch the print he can read me like I can him.” Harry says, voice still breathless in disbelief.

“I think that’ll probably be the extent of the gift you gave. His, um, his future changed again. Both of yours. Sort of everything changed, actually.”

“Should I be worried?”

“I have to get back now before the twins find me. Good luck, H.” Mark grins, carefully avoiding the question, and Harry sighs petulantly as the meeting warbles. When he returns to the hospital, Louis’ sat at his side filling out the discharge forms and petting at his hand absentmindedly.

Mark was right, something’s changed, he can feel the shift in the space between them. He just doesn’t know exactly what. Thankfully this time, the lingering feeling isn’t bad.

-

Louis is quiet as they pull out of the hospital, face flushed from the press mobbing them as they’d left, hand in his, drawing circles around his cross tattoo.

“Alright?” Harry murmurs as they ride through the city, bustling and loud with the evening rush. Louis turns to him, head tilting back against the dark leather seat. He smiles softly, pretty eyes trailing over his face as adrenaline lifts within him. He wants to say something but holds back, and then he looks away, glancing to the front seat hesitantly.

“Quietly, then.” Harry offers, turning his head so Louis can whisper. The boy leans in closer, but instead of whispering, he presses his lips just below Harry’s ear, free hand settling on his thigh.

The arousal that was sizzling under his surface filters up to the top as Louis trails kisses over his neck, up to his jaw. There’s want in him, need.

“What do you need?” Harry asks, letting his head tilt to give him more room, heart fluttering at the feeling.

“You. Everything.” Louis whispers, hand not clasped in his settling on his chest, fingers tucking into the low scoop of his jumper. He knows what the boy is asking for, can feel the need for it swimming through their joined palms, the tilt of his eyebrows and the pleading look in his eyes.

Harry can only think about the fact that if this were happening maybe just a month before, it probably would’ve started raining right about now. He closes his eyes as Louis’ dangerous lips continue their trail over the skin available to him. He doesn’t know if he has control yet. Has been a little busy with death to work on it.

“I trust you,” Louis murmurs against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, like he can feel his hesitation, “you won’t lose control.”

“That’s just it, though. You trust me, and it knows.” They’re speaking low enough that the driver won’t be able to hear, but he’s always been careful about the subject. Never letting the word cross his lips unless he’s certain they’re alone. Magic.

“Trust yourself, then. I don’t know why, but I feel like we’ll be okay.”

“Louis..”

“Shh,” he lifts his mouth to Harry’s ear, “give me rain.”

Within seconds, Harry complies, and feels the boy smile against his ear as the pattering starts, the driver sighing quietly and turning on the windscreen wipers.

“Reckon you might be a Siren, my love.” Harry smiles, brings their clasped hands up to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

“Wouldn’t I need to be singing, then?”

“You always sound like you’re singing when you talk.”

“You saying I’m an obnoxious speaker?”

“I’m saying you’re beautiful. Your voice is music to my ears.”

“Oh my god,” Louis giggles, hiding his face in his shoulder, “‘orrible.”

Harry can _feel_ the heat of the boy’s cheek against his own. He laughs, carefree and so caught up in everything that is his soulmate that he doesn’t even realise they’ve stopped in front of the hotel until the driver informs them. He almost died. He almost lost this forever. God.

They part, but not fully, Louis’ hand still steady in his own. The windows are quite tinted, and it’s raining, but that doesn’t seem to stop the people lining the way up to the entrance. Always people waiting for them. Hoping for a glance at the singer.

Harry pulls his hand away and turns to step out, hand on the doorhandle, but Louis reaches back in, tucks their pinky fingers together.

He stops, looking down at their joined fingers with a surprised blink. With just a finger connected, he’d think the emotions would be even a little weakened, not quite so strong.

Alas, Louis has always felt in a loud way, and the overwhelming certainty flowing in him is enough. He doesn’t want to let go, knowing the consequences of stepping out of this car practically holding hands.

No words are needed. Harry steps out, and Louis follows. The flashes start, and the screaming follows right after. The shock sizzles through the air, suffocating. There’s so many emotions flying around, and the rain coating them, and the blinding flashing of the cameras.

Louis’ pinky in his is more anchoring than he ever thought it could be.

It only takes about five seconds to walk between the entrance from the car, but it feels monumental. Like something more. Something bigger and scary and something that might result in angry phone calls and more PR stunts with fake girlfriends.

They step inside, a bit wet, and he looks back to find Louis is grinning. It’s blinding, that grin. At once, the fear and the nerves are gone. Louis looks proud and happy. Feels even more so. He’s absolutely buzzing when they step into the lift, and the moment the doors click closed, he shifts his fingers, actually holding hands rather than just pinkies.

“Take me to the rooftop.” He says, completely opposite of anything Harry thought he might say.

“What? No—“

“Don’t you think it’s time we make some good rooftop memories instead of just remembering the first time? C’mon.”

Harry chews on his lip nervously, watching the elevator numbers steadily tick to their floor. He pulls Louis in by his waist, and obeys. Because when Louis Tomlinson asks him to do something, it’s unlikely he’d say no.

The port isn’t too terrible. It’s always a bit more draining when it’s not just him, but they were in a lift that was nearing the upper half of the hotel anyway, so it’s not a terribly far distance.

“We’re going to get soaked.” Harry murmurs, pulling Louis closer and not daring to look around them, heart pounding as he just remembers. Remembers the last time the two of them were on a rooftop in the rain. Louis’ terribly dark centre and his begging for Harry to let him go. It feels different from the time they were on Louis’ house in Donny. Feels different from when he was on rooftops on his lonesome. Maybe it’s the rain, reminding him of the first time.

Whatever it is, anxiety crumbles through him like paper in a shredder, and he doesn’t dare to look away from Louis’ face.

“I love rain. Look at the view.” Louis murmurs, reaching up and brushing his damp hair out of his eyes.

“I..” he doesn’t know how to say it. How to say how fucking terrified he is, hands probably too tight around Louis’ waist, not daring to let him step away. They’re in the centre of the rooftop, plenty of metres of space between them and the edge, but it’s no matter. No distance is enough with the memories he has. They’re higher up than those four or five stories the first time. Much higher, and all he can see is blood swirling through rain water on dark concrete.

Louis makes a soft noise, seeming to notice the anxiety, and reaches down, taking his wrist and lifting up his own jumper. Harry realises what he’s going to do right away, but doesn’t stop him. His hand presses to the golden mark on the boy’s chest that neither of them can see, but both know sits just there.

“Oh, H.” Louis murmurs, eyes fluttering as he gains Harry’s emotions and understands. He takes his hand back out, settles it on his own waist, arms circling his neck like they’re dancing or something.

“I can’t—“

“Dance with me.” Louis whispers, barely audible over the rain, clearly trying to distract him. He tilts his face up, touches their noses together softly.

“I can’t move.” Harry replies, pained, his legs stiff like they’re filled with cement. It’s like the ledges of the hotel are closing in on them, threatening to swallow Louis up and dwindle him down to a stain on the concrete below, blood washing away with the rain just like in the premonition he got the first night they met.

Louis bites his lip, and then with a determined breath, he pulls Harry down a bit, enough that he doesn’t have to be up on his tip-toes, then he starts to sway them, very slowly so it seems they’re almost not moving at all. Most startling of all, is the way he begins to sing.

“Looks like we made it, look how far we’ve come, my baby..”

And.

Harry’s. Well..his breath swoops out of him immediately, because Louis’ singing to him. Singing for their dance. Singing fucking Shania Twain to him in his beautiful tenor and Harry’s high and helpless and heart-warmed and every other word that begins with H that can properly describe the feeling of it.

He exhales shakily, and pulls Louis in closer, and begins to sway with him, hand finding his and extending it like a genuine dance, legs almost buckling as he remembers how to move.

“You’re still the one I run to, the one that I belong to, you’re still the one I want for life,” Louis smiles as he sings, and it’s probably the most romantic thing Harry’s ever experienced.

Dancing with his soulmate in the rain, on the rooftop of the Copacabana Palace, the beach to their left and the beautiful view of Rio to their right. He looks down at Louis, the view of him far more beautiful than any sight around them, and can’t seem to find a proper breath.

The rain soaks through his hair, trails down his face and drips from his pretty eyelashes, and Harry’s just gone. So gone for him. He tilts down, cuts him off mid-verse with a kiss. Louis smiles into the kiss, hand leaving his only to wrap around his neck. The soaked fabric of his jumper sleeves against his skin reminds him that staying out in the rain will only result in the boy getting a cold. They’re set to continue the tour tomorrow, flying out first thing in the morning to Buenos Aires.

Not that it matters too much, Harry can pull the cold out of him before he even gets one sniffle, but there’s the whole fact that he’d much rather be near a bed currently.

He pulls away from the kiss for just a moment, enough time to port back to their room, and when he kisses him again, he presses him back against the wall next to the hotel room door.

Louis gasps in surprise at the sudden change of scenery, pushing him away enough to look around. He laughs as he realises what’s happened, and tilts his head back against the wall, in awe and maybe a little exhilarated.

Harry takes the opportunity he sees fit, and steps in while he’s looking up, latching onto his neck. Louis makes a breathless noise, hands burying in his hair.

“Gonna finally follow through on your promise?” Louis asks, skin wet from the rain. Harry could dry them easily. Quickly. For some reason, he likes it, decides to keep them wet. Likes the way Louis’ hair spikes when it’s damp, the way stray droplets drag down his smooth skin, soak into his pores.

Instead of verbally answering, he reaches down and hoists the boy up, pressing him against the wall with his pelvis. His magic makes it easy. He could lift Louis with just a finger if he felt like it.

“Fuck,” the boy chokes, legs wrapping around his waist, hands grasping at his shoulders as if he’s anything but steady, “bed, bed.”

Harry steps away from the wall, lips still on Louis’ skin as he carries him to the bed, presses him down far too gently for how desperate they are.

Instead of flicking their clothes off, he leans back and helps Louis out of his jumper slowly, eyes trailing over every new slice of skin as it’s revealed, like a tiger waiting to pounce.

His magic buzzes, but he’s still in control. He doesn’t feel like he wants to use it, strangely. Once again, he realises something’s changed. He hardly has to pay attention to that part of him. It just seeps under the surface, flying through his veins as it always does, aware Louis is his and he is Louis’, but not fighting to take him in every way it can. Content, it seems. His magic is content.

Maybe when Harry gave that piece of himself, they really did become one. Maybe his magic doesn’t feel the need to enter Louis because it already has. Already holds a place in him, the proof of it shiny and gold on his chest in the shape of his hand.

Harry leans down and kisses the mark on his skin, Louis’ pounding heartbeat nearly audible under his lips.

“C’mon.” The boy whines, reaching between them to fumble with his trousers. Harry calmly takes both of his wrists in one hand, holds them above his head, pressing them to the mattress tightly.

“Patience. You going to be a good boy?” He asks, and Louis inhales sharply, cheeks immediately pinking, eyes fluttering down. He squirms a bit under his gaze, but doesn’t answer.

“Tell me you’ll be good and maybe I’ll tie you up.” To the average person, this would be a threat they wouldn’t take him up on. They’d be silent and get angry, likely. Louis isn’t the average person. Thank god for that, too, because it’s so hot it almost hurts.

“I’ll be good. Good for you.” Louis murmurs, cheeks nearing red, but eyes flashing up to meet his boldly. Harry smiles, leaning in and kissing his nose. It scrunches cutely under his lips, and he’s so smitten.

He knows Louis will need a push, though. With his magic under control, he wants to bring him down. Wants him to fall. It’s a quick decision as to how he will help him along.

“Alright, on your knees on the floor, go on.” Harry climbs off of him and sits at the edge of the bed. Louis seems to understand immediately, and clasps his hands behind his back obediently as he sinks to the carpet between his legs. This time, Harry doesn’t have to tell him to straighten his back. Louis looks at him with his pretty blue eyes, full of trust, and doesn’t move even a little when Harry reaches out and rests a hand on the back of his neck.

At the first squeeze, Louis’ eye contact falls and he looks down, shoulders heaving with the deep breath he takes.

They stay like that for about two minutes, and the moment he feels Louis start to fuzz around the edges, he takes his hand away and reaches to his lap, unbuttoning his trousers.

“Wanna taste, baby?” He asks, and Louis looks up at the sound of his zipper, lips bitten to a red and eyes dilated.

“Yeah.” He breathes, voice already just that octave higher. Softer. Submissive. He’s not quite down but he’s definitely getting there. 

Harry rids of his trousers and his pants, and circles his fingers around his cock, hard and ready.

Louis’ hands twitch behind his back, but he doesn’t reach out. What he does do, is crawl forward on his knees incrementally closer.

“Go ‘head.” He says, and Louis does, eyes flicking up to his like he’s double checking, before he leans in and takes Harry into his mouth tongue first.

He sucks him in too quickly, losing his breath in the process. Harry eases him off a bit, pets at his hair. He has to remember that Louis needs guidance when he gets like this. Reassurance.

“Not too fast. Don’t forget to breath.”

The boy tries again, mouth stretching around him, tongue flat against the underside, teeth carefully tucked behind his lips. He sinks until he can’t anymore, Harry’s head nudging the back of his throat a bit roughly. He should choke and pull off, but instead he moans, sinking down to do it _again_ , the fucking masochist.

Harry hisses, reaching down to stop him, but then Louis swallows around him, sinking lower and lower, deepthroating him.

“F-fuck.” Harry groans, reaching down to pull him off with a hand in his hair, stomach swirling a little too close to orgasm. Likely, he would’ve if he were mortal. If he weren’t able to control his stamina and ensure he can give the boy everything for however long he wants.

Louis makes a noise and looks right up at him, eyes wet, tongue sticking out to roll around his cockhead like he can’t get enough. Harry tries to keep his breathing in check and stands up, stepping out from in front of him.

“Okay, back on the bed. On your back. Hands above your head.” Harry says, and beckons a tie from his duffel. The boy complies, lying on the bed and clasping his hands together above him. He bites at the inside of his lip and watches Harry with big trusting eyes. He’s so beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful.” Harry voices his thoughts, climbing onto the bed between his legs. Louis doesn’t disagree, cheeks pinking again.

“Tell me how you’re feeling.” He says, tying the silky tie around the boy’s wrist.

“Good.” Louis answers, voice a soft rasp as his eyes flutter. Why tying him up gets him off so much, Harry will never know. It’s no matter, because it’s dastardly hot.

“Bit more detail?”

“F-floaty. Safe.”

Harry smiles, and coats his fingers. Louis is so gorgeous when he goes down, his emotions blurry and his eyes wide and so so trusting. Not to mention how mind-blowingly obedient he is. It’s so damn unexpected, because normally Louis’ anything but obedient. Bouncing around the dressing room pulling pranks, stealing random things from rooms he interviews in, tossing bottled water on anyone he can reach during shows.

“You remember our safe word?” He asks, smiling at Louis’ vigorous nod. He circles his rim with wet fingers, and then slowly pushes in two from the get go. It should hurt a bit, without the prepping of one first, but that’s sort of the point.

Louis gasps, thighs lifting and spreading at the ache of it. Harry keeps a hand on his hip the entire time, waiting for a single sign of discomfort. He pumps his fingers quickly, and barely gives him time to get used to two fingers before he’s fitting in the third. He takes his time a bit, scissoring his fingers and stretching him. It will hurt no matter what, but he has to make sure he keeps it on the good side of hurt.

“Please, ‘arry.” Louis whines, wriggling down on his fingers every time he presses them in, desperate.

“No need to rush, Lou. You’re being good, remember?”

“Good.” Louis repeats under his breath, and shutters when Harry curls his fingers, so close to where he wants them but not quite there. He grins, leaning over him for a kiss. Louis responds enthusiastically, mouth pliant and wanton.

He takes his fingers away, coats his cock, and checks the large window to their right. The rain has settled slowly on its own, no need for it now that they’re inside. No thunder to be heard. No lightning to see. He feels under control, but he knows how quickly that can change.

It’s different, this time. Louis is already down, so if he loses control he can’t leave and give the boy a bad reaction. He has to stay. Which means he has to maintain control.

For some reason, he knows he will. It feels like it’s shifted this time, sort of in every way. His magic feels different, buzzing under the surface, flicking through the cross on his necklace comfortably.

As he presses into him, Louis’ back arches, eyelashes fluttering and jaw slacking. It’s sure to be painful, but he seems to like it that way, the prettiest little gasp escaping his lips as he bottoms out. Harry groans, lowering his face and tucking it in Louis’ neck, resisting the urge to just start pounding into him. It feels so fucking good. Somehow better than the first time. And the second. And the third. It feels like electricity is shooting through his veins, making the hairs on his arm stand at attention.

“Yeah,” Louis whimpers, sounding relieved of all things, legs tightening around his hips as he wriggles, trying to fuck himself when Harry doesn’t move.

“Shh, I’ll give it to you, baby.” Harry reassures, kissing his neck while he’s there. Louis whines, bicep flexing like he’s considering moving his hands.

He drags his hips back, and then slams back in, hard enough that the bed shifts, hitting the wall due to it not being bolted down. Nice arse hotels and their lack of securely placed furniture, bloody hell.

Louis moans, loud and beautiful, chin lifted so his hair flops back, splaying out over the pillow.

Harry tucks a hand under his knee, lifts it, and then just starts pounding into him roughly, hitting his prostate every damn time. Louis makes the loveliest noises, trying to watch him but his eyes keep slipping closed every time they slap together.

“Harder?” Harry asks, not letting up his thrusts.

“Please, please—“ Louis chokes off into a broken gasp when Harry complies, slamming into him over and over again, speed increasing, surpassing the point of human standards of movement. 

Louis’ moans break, until he’s just shaking, back arched, mouth open and eyebrows screwed together.

“S-so fucking pretty, god—“ Harry can feel his orgasm sneaking up, so he reaches out on a whim and presses his hand to the print over Louis’ heart, maintaining the quick snapping of his hips.

Everything changes. It’s only three seconds of his hand held there, but at once, everything shifts.

In the first, the gold under his hand spreads over Louis’ body. Much like it did the first time, only it seeps into Harry as well, the gold licking up his arm and over his body as well.

In second two, Louis’ body seizes and he comes, making a high noise that can only be described as a mewl. Harry immediately follows, pitching his cock deep inside the boy as white dots flash in his vision.

In second three, every loose item in the room not bolted to the floor around them lifts a metre into the air, the drapes fluttering, the lights flickering.

Then, when the third second ends, everything falls. Glass shattering from their mugs and the hotel’s whiskey glasses hitting the tables. Thumps as their shoes and trunks fall back to the carpet. Both of their gasps as the bed below them settles back down, Harry’s hand slipping from the mark in the process.

There’s a moment where they just stare at each other, brains catching up to everything that’s just happened, gold skin slowly fading back to normal.

“Fuck.” Harry breathes, and Louis _grins_ , still down and fuzzy, not fully comprehending everything, confused and still riding on the high of his orgasm.

He looks over his shoulder as he slips out of the boy, back to the mess his magic’s made of the room, and realises with a start that it’s not just his mess. It’s _their_ mess. More importantly, he’s still in control. He hasn’t lost it.

Exhilaration spiking through him, he laughs gleefully and reaches up, unties Louis’ wrists, then snakes down his body and takes a hold of the boy’s spent cock and sucks the head into his mouth, tasting his warm come.

“N-no, it hurts—“

“You know our word, Lou.” Harry pops off to say, before swirling his tongue around him, hand pumping him before he can go soft.

Louis whines at the sensitivity, but doesn’t utter the safe word, eyebrows knit together and freshly-freed hand shifting down to touch his hair. He wriggles like he wants to get away, while simultaneously moaning at the pleasure-pain of it.

Harry works quickly, hand and mouth working in tandem until Louis is a shivering mess, gasping his name and coming a second time, barely a few spurts so soon after the first.

With a lovely ache in his jaw, Harry climbs back up his body, cleans them up with a wave of his hand, and settles next to the boy. Louis turns to him, on his side as well, and accepts a kiss happily.

“Good?” Harry asks into his mouth, tugging the duvet over them.

“So good.” Louis murmurs back, still fuzzy around the edges as he pulls back and smiles.

He’s found control of his magic. Somehow, in the midst of all this shit, he found control. Perhaps it’s something to do with Louis having a part of him, or maybe it was the fact that he sort of died himself. Either way, he couldn’t be happier.

Louis pulls away, and touches his chest, confusion floating sluggishly through his dazed state, also showing in the narrowing of his eyes.

“What is it?” Harry asks, following his eyes to his own chest, where Louis holds his cross necklace. Only, it’s changed. Once a lovely silver, the cross now shines gold, spreading up on the chain as well. It seems more changed in those three seconds than he’d originally noticed.

“Pretty.” Louis murmurs, his still-sub brain telling him to lean in and kiss the pendant. Harry smiles, pulling him closer as his heart flutters. Louis looks back up into his eyes, but movement behind his head catches his attention.

“Turn around, see something even prettier.” Harry whispers, unsure why he takes on the tone but feeling like it’s necessary. Louis immediately starts rolling over, complying without question.

“Oh.” He whispers in reply, blinking in surprise before he lies down, hands tucked adorably under his chin. Harry smiles and scoots up against his back, pulling him close.

They watch the window, where snow falls silently through the glass, just light flurries rather than an angry blizzard. The lights of the city outside give the snowflakes a beautiful shine as they drift out of view, beginning to catch on the balcony outside.

“Did you do that?” Louis asks after a minute of cozy silence.

“I think _we_ did that.” Harry says, turning his head to press a kiss to his hair. Louis smiles and after a few minutes he falls asleep like that, body worn, heart calm, nothing but content flowing through him.

The minute Louis’ asleep, Harry stands up from the bed and whisks the room back into shape within seconds. He rounds the bed and sits at the chair next to the window. With an easy view of both the snow and Louis’ pretty sleeping form, he opens his journal, feeling especially inspired.

’ _golden, golden, golden, as I open my eyes. hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light.._ ’

-

The next day is a blur of police statements, Louis’ solo interview to inform people that he’s still “definitely engaged” and that pinky-holding thing was just “helpful guiding”, and flights to Argentina.

The news of the kidnapping spreads like wildfire, and Harry gives his side of the story in his own interview in Santiago. Obviously, he has to dumb it down a bit, leaving the story with a lot less magic and a lot more “dumb-luck”. He tells the world he used Louis’ phone location to find him, and was quite lucky to find he’d been unharmed. After the interview, he might end up having to adjust Paul’s memory a bit when the man leans over and asks him how he got into the compound without being seen.

They have a three day break between Chile and Mexico for Louis’ birthday and Christmas. Admittedly, it’s Harry’s first Christmas he doesn’t spend with his family. For Louis’ birthday, he takes him to the Plaza de Armas to see the many statues, then they share a lovely meal at Bocanáriz, where Harry also gives him his birthday gift, a lovely custom pair of Adidas trainers with little ‘LT’s on the heels. Back at the hotel, he gives him three orgasms, and Louis stays down for hours.

The next day, they spend the morning of Christmas flying to Mexico, bundled up together as they watch Love Actually on Louis’ iPad. When they land, they nap off their jet lag in the hotel, and that night they exchange gifts and FaceTime their families.

“Y’know, it’s been a while since I’ve died.” Louis says casually as they lie in bed. Harry startles a bit, having been nearly at the edge of sleep.

“Barely been half a month.” Harry points out, pulling him closer just at the thought of death coming around again.

“Yeah, but I feel like it’s different this time. I feel like maybe it’s not going to happen again.”

“You having a premonition, Lou?” Harry asks, grinning. Louis rolls his eyes, pinching his side.

“Piss off, I’m gonna die on purpose now.” He says dramatically.

“I think you’re just feeling hopeful ‘cause your new album’s finished.” Harry murmurs, lips touching to his temple. Louis hums, curling up against him closer. Never quite close enough, the two of them.

“Maybe. Go to sleep, got a show tomorrow.”

“I know. Happy Christmas.” Harry sighs, feeling Louis smile against his skin, making his heart flutter.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

-

They fly Niall out to Mexico City, and he stays for a week, helping out with guitar while Harry writes songs, providing food and some much needed laughter as they travel around Mexico. Harry tries to enjoy it best he can, but Louis’ observation sits heavy in his gut. It does feel different, is the thing. Everything feels different now.

Sometimes he doesn’t even need to touch Louis to know how he’s feeling. Sometimes he’ll be sitting backstage and will stand up, a chill running over his skin, and he will find that Louis and Nicolò are having a water fight, the boy shivering with the cold of the liquid. Sometimes he will have an itch on his scalp, and look over to see Lou’s doing Louis’ hair.

He doesn’t want to have false hope, but there’s a part deep down inside of him that feels like death has moved on as well. Like always, he doesn’t have to wonder for long, and the night of their last day in Mexico City, he meets with Mark in the forest.

“It’s not false hope.” Mark says before he can even ask anything. Harry crosses his arms with a shutter, eyes wide at the way he’s read without a touch.

“Tell me. Whatever you’re hiding. I need to know.”

“Harry, it’s not the nicest news—“

“Tell me. Please.”

“Okay, okay. You might want to sit down.” Mark says, eyes dark, and Harry’s heart climbs in his throat. He remembers his medical training. Always have the patient sit before giving bad news. He complies, easing into a tree stump with a shake in his legs.

“I didn’t want to tell you this, because it’s not..great. It can haunt you, but telling you won’t alter anything, and because you’ve asked to know, I don’t want to be that person who lies about it..”

“Just give it to me straight, Mark.” Harry huffs, hating the uncomfortable anticipation.

“Okay. That first night when you met Louis, do you remember when you climbed up onto the ledge, and your magic straightened yourself out so you wouldn’t fall?”

“Yes.” Harry blinks, vaguely remembering the action, though he’d been quite distracted that night with pretty blue eyes and dark smiles.

“You were meant to fall. You were meant to fall and die. I obviously don’t know 100% of the details, but I think what must’ve happened is death saw you weren’t of a pure kind, so he latched onto the closest human he could to pay the price instead. Your debt became his.”

All of Harry’s breath escapes at once, heart still between beats.

“What?” He whispers, eyes wide, disbelief hiking up so quickly that it nearly chokes him, but he can’t deny it. He did straighten himself out before he fell, and his premonition prior had just been blood on concrete. His blood? His own blood?

He gave Louis his shadow of death. He’s the reason Louis can’t sleep in pitch black now. He’s the reason Louis couldn’t shower alone for days on end. It was meant to be Harry this whole time.

“Oh my god—“

“Harry, Harry, don’t freak out, you couldn’t have possibly known, and it’s okay!”

“It’s- what the fuck? How can it be okay?! He’s—“

“He’s perfectly fine now. Please breathe and listen to me.” Mark settles a hand on his shoulder, and Harry looks around, finding the soulmeeting cracking a bit under his stress, ready to send him back to his body if he starts having a panic attack.

“I’m listening.” He says, though he feels a bit like there’s cotton in his ears.

“Back in Rio, when you gave a piece of yourself to Louis, you also gave him that piece of your magic. You have him the ability to read you. Death has moved on from him. He sees the same barrier he saw in you, our magic, and has latched onto someone else.”

“Who?!” Harry exclaims.

“I’m not sure. There’s no way to know. It would be someone near you when you saved him.”

When he saved him in a city of 6 million people, right. Death moved on to kill someone else. Someone else who might have been in that horrid cartel, but perhaps not. Perhaps it moved further, grabbed onto someone innocent. Because of Harry.

“Mark..if I were meant to die that first night, surely that means you saw it happen. You saw Louis’ future continue without me.”

“Well, yes.” Mark replies warily, seeming to hear the question coming. Harry can only be glad Mark can’t see these meetings in the future, since they technically aren’t reality. No escape from what he’s about to ask.

“If I had died, death would’ve left and continued his work. Does that mean Louis would have been fine in that shower? Wouldn’t have been hit by the car, kidnapped, electrocuted? He’d have been able to continue on with his life without all of that pain?”

Mark blinks, jaw setting.

“Harry, what’s happened has happened, you can’t let ‘what if’s haunt you—“

“Oh my god,”

“Harry, please calm down.”

But it’s too late. The soulmeeting cracks as his magic yanks him back to his body. He sits up, climbing out of the bed silently. He stands and his hands raise to his throat, holding it gently as he feels a choking sensation from the dread and guilt coursing through every part of him. Louis sleeps soundly under the duvet, hair soft over his forehead, face calm with unconsciousness, face basked in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

Because he can’t sleep in pitch black without remembering his death in the shower. That void of nothingness that haunts him. Haunts him because of Harry. Because Harry didn’t die that day.

He scrambles to the toilet, and promptly hurls up everything he’d eaten that day, magic guiding the sick slowly into the porcelain to keep the splashing quiet. Mouth effectively acidic and stomach empty, he collapses back against the wall, and proceeds to cry until his head is pounding and his entire face is puffy. It was supposed to be him. It was never supposed to be Louis. 

He doesn’t sleep that night.

-

The next day is a rush of press and the last Mexico show in Guadalajara. With the bustling busy of the day, it’s easy for Harry to sneak in a few naps to make up for the lack of sleep all night. His gained information eats at him like a parasite, cutting through his joy and ripping his insides out.

He refuses to let it show.

Louis is just so _happy_ , is the thing. He’s a ball of energy during the entire day. When Harry holds his hand in the green room, he feels anticipation, more than usual before a show. He’s planning something, and the mystery of it is nearly enough to distract him from the fact that he’s essentially killed Louis too many times to count.

It’s not a mystery for too long. There’s a seven day break between Mexico and Ukraine, and that night Louis settles into the bed and shows him two tickets to London for the next day.

“We’re going home for the break?” Harry asks, and Louis smiles, kissing him swiftly, not even needing to answer.

Somehow with everything swirling around them, he’d forgotten about the house. The house Louis confessed he bought back in the hospital. _Their_ house.

Even that isn’t enough to distract him. He forgets all about the house. Forgets a lot of things in the midst of his overwhelming guilt.

-

After a long flight back to London on the 31st of December, he abruptly remembers when they take a foreign exit and head for the hills.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, though he’s sure it’s the house. How could he forget about the house?

Louis is nearly bouncing with excitement, but doesn’t say a word as they drive a long winding road, surrounded by trees, and embark on a lovely property. Gated and large with a beautiful fountain in the front.

“Louis—“

“Just hear me out, yeah?” Louis pleads, smiling as he leads him out of the car, up the front stairs, brandishing a key for the large arched front door.

The house is incredibly beautiful, not too big but definitely extravagant. Floor to ceiling windows in every room, a kitchen with a lovely huge island to cook on, a pretty chandelier in the foyer.

“This room is soundproof, so I’m thinking we can turn it into a studio. Record at home,” Louis grins, and brings him to the end of the long hallway, to a beautiful room with soft soft carpet and a bay window, “the nursery.”

He doesn’t need to explain further. Harry inhales shakily, pulling the boy back against his chest with a smile. He can practically see it. The bassinet on the west wall, a rocking chair on the east, sitting at the bay window holding a baby and watching snow fall onto their backyard. It’s beautiful.

“Are we staying here tonight?” Harry asks as they sway gently in the doorway of their future child’s room.

“Yeah. It’s not furnished since I figured we’d like to do it ourselves, but I did get one thing. C’mon.” He turns, taking his hand and leading him back the way they came, through the hallway and down the stairs. Further from the kitchen is a living space, complete with a lovely fireplace and even lovelier, the entire wall of glass overlooking the back lawn.

There’s a few lit candles strewn about, in the corners on the floor and sat on the mantle. In the middle of the room is a large king size mattress, a pizza box and a bottle of wine next to it. Harry laughs, elated.

“I love it so much,” he says, turning and pulling Louis in for a kiss, “I love you.”

Louis grins against his mouth, tugging him to the mattress. They shed their shoes and coats and settle down. Their laughter fills the empty room as they pop the cork on the wine and drink right from the bottle, feeding each other pizza and most definitely getting grease on their new mattress.

At one point, Louis sets down the wine and picks up his phone, seeing it’s two minutes past midnight.

“Happy New Year.” He says, and climbs into his lap, pressing their lips together. Harry kisses him right back, hands on his waist and feeling so incredibly elated.

When Louis pulls back, it’s with soft eyes and an even softer smile. He touches at the curls at the nape of his neck and flushes.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am right now.” He confesses, thighs tightening around his lap like he’s nervous. Harry laughs, opening his mouth to repeat the sentiment, when he realises that Louis’ words aren’t exactly true. Maybe it is for him right now, where he is, but it’s not true for every version.

Because in another universe, Louis could be happier. He could have no nightmares, could sleep in the dark, could take a cold shower without having a panic attack, could carry on with his life without ever having known what it feels like to die. Harry doesn’t realise his smile has fallen until Louis cups his cheek, eyebrows furrowing.

“What’s wrong? Where’d you go?” He asks, voice a mere murmur. Harry sucks in a breath, doesn’t think he can talk about it without crying. Doesn’t know even where to begin. Louis seems to realise he’s having trouble, and takes his wrist, lifting his shirt.

When Harry realises he’s going to press it to his mark so he can be read, he tugs it back immediately. Louis blinks in surprise, and then frowns.

“The promise I made in St. Louis goes both ways, Harry. We don’t pull away, remember? No matter how badly you don’t want me to feel it.”

“Lou—“

“We don’t pull away.” Louis repeats, voice stern but a bit breathless, nervousness coursing through him. Harry swallows thickly and relaxes his arm, closing his eyes as it’s pressed to the gold handprint over Louis’ heart. He can’t look and see his reaction, because he knows Louis is only going to feel one thing. The one thing that’s been eating at him ever since his meeting with Mark.

Guilt.

His hand is released, and he settles it on Louis’ thigh, eyes still closed, head downcast in shame.

“Did you..fuck, did you cheat on me?” Louis asks, sounding unsure even as he asks. At once, Harry looks back at him, eyes wide.

“No! No, I couldn’t. I can’t even think about anyone but you.”

“Tell me why you’re so guilty, then. I can’t read your mind, H.” Louis grazes a gentle thumb over his cheek. So damn comforting.

“I don’t think you’ll want to be in my lap when I do.” Harry says horsely. Louis raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t even slightly shift to move.

“I’ll decide that for myself. Go on, spill.”

Harry takes a deep breath, hands drifting over Louis’ back and thighs, memorising the feeling of his happiness. Memorising it because he knows it will turn to hurt soon enough. Maybe even hate.

“It’s my fault.” He says, and immediately starts crying before he can even begin to explain. Louis pets at his hair, hushing him gently, eyes soft and reassuring.

“What is? You can tell me anything, love. We can work through it, whatever it is.”

“It’s my fault you kept dying. I..met up with my trainer and he says I was the one who was meant to fall to my death that night we met. And death saw that I was magic so he moved onto you instead. And now since you have a piece of my magic he’s moved onto some other poor sod, and some guy’s in jail who was never going to drive drunk originally, and you’re fucked up and have gone through all of this because of me. It was supposed to be me. This whole time it was supposed to be me.” Harry let’s it out all in one go, vision blurry with his tears so he doesn’t see how Louis reacts. There’s a few tense minutes where he just cries and Louis pets at his hair comfortingly. Then, the boy inhales sharply and pulls him back, wipes at his tears.

“Hey, listen to me,” he says, and Harry does, eyebrows knit together, face a runny mess, “it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have possibly known what was going to happen. You also clearly didn’t read up on the charges we pressed against that driver, because he’d had two previous DUI’s before, so even if he wasn’t going to drive pissed that day, he would’ve some other day. I know it’s horrible what happened to me, but it happened to you too. I can feel it when I read you. This dark sadness deep inside. Sure, I’m the one who died, but you are the one who had to find me like that, keep it together so you could save me.”

“That’s hardly comparable—“

“ _And_ , I would do it all again. Hell, I’d continue to die every few weeks without complaint, you know why? Because I get to have you. Do you really think I could’ve gone on to be happier if you’d died that first night? I knew you were something special by our first fucking handshake, and you’re out of your mind if you think I could ever be happy if you died. Fuckin’ hell, did you forget the whole fact we’re actual soulmates or something?” Louis is cross, then, eyebrows pinched together as he pokes a sharp fingernail into Harry’s shoulder.

“I..I dunno,” Harry mumbles, feeling a bit silly now. How did that even happen? Louis huffs and takes his wrist again, this time bringing his hand up to his cheek.

“Can’t you feel how happy I am? How perfectly content I am? How insanely in love with you I am?”

Harry’s a bit speechless, because he _can_ feel it. He can feel all of that, and it turns his stomach in both a good and bad way. It feels undeserved, now.

“I’m so sorry, Lou. I’m sorry.” He chokes, eyes welling again.

“Shh, darling. There’s nothing to apologise for. C’mere.” Louis pulls him forward, lying back against the mattress. Harry curls up against his chest, face tucked in his neck. The boy runs gentle fingers through his hair, over his back, across his arm, and Harry just cries.

Louis loves him, he knows. Unconditionally. Despite the questions he still doesn’t have answers to. Hell, Harry still hasn’t even told him about Ben. Hasn’t told him everything there is to know. And yet the boy holds him in the house he’s bought just for them, kickstarting their future together after just a few short months of knowing each other, trusting him with his life, and so maybe it is silly. Maybe Harry is being silly to think Louis could hate him.

He knows he couldn’t control it, couldn’t know it was meant to be him, but it still hurts. It still hurts to know that he should’ve been the one dying this whole time.

He falls asleep like that, tear tracks down his cheeks, throat sore with his sobbing, and Louis’ soft voice whispering that it’ll all be okay.

After a bit, Harry believes him.


	7. the love

Harry wakes up alone, and would likely panic and think he’s been dumped, if it weren’t for the soft strumming of a guitar filtering in from upstairs.

He stands up and pulls on his softest jumper, brushing his teeth in three seconds, and padding up the stairs of their home. The guitar is coming from the future studio. He silently steps into the room, heart warming at the sight.

Louis sits on the floor in the middle of the room, two empty mugs next to him and a third half-drunk, balls of paper thrown to the corner of the room, glasses perched on his cute little nose, Harry’s guitar in his lap, hands still over the strings as he looks up in a bit of a startle.

Immediately, he looks over to the window, where the morning sun is peeking over the trees. Their backyard is even nicer in the daylight.

“Did I wake you?” Louis asks, voice a rasp.

“No. It’s 7AM.” Harry replies, stepping into the room and settling down in front of him, eyes falling to the notepad he’s writing in. The song doesn’t look particularly long, but there’s many things marked out, rewritten and done over like he struggled with finding the right words.

“I, um, I kind of have been up all night. Couldn’t get this song out of me head.”

“A single?” Harry asks, because the next One Direction album is finished. Just waiting for the tour to complete to be released.

“No. Not for the band. Sort of, just, getting how I feel out?” The exhaustion shows in the circles under his eyes and the rasp of his voice. Harry chews at his lip, fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper.

“Can I hear it?”

“Was hoping you’d ask.” Louis replies, smiling softly. He fiddles with the strings a bit, playing a chord or two, clearly not having had copious amounts of practice with the music.

“Pour mercy, mercy on me, set fire to history. I’m breakin’ my own rules, I’m cryin’ like a fool. Tall stories on the page, short glories on the fade. I been close enough to touch, but I never cared for love,” he sings, voice raw and emotional, eyes lifting to meet Harry’s as often as he can.

With a start, Harry realises he’s singing _to_ him, not just performing for him. The song is short, but by the end, his blue eyes are glossy, eyebrows knit like he’s really trying to get the point across.

“All the lonely shadow dances from the cradle to the grave, it’s a solo song and it’s only for the brave.”

Harry wipes at his eyes, heart pounding against his ribcage. He picks up the notepad, reading over the lyrics he’s just sung, and touches at the margins of the paper, where Louis’ doodled a few little ‘H’s, and a smiley face just like the one tattoo’d under his rope.

“What’s it about?” He asks, not wanting to make assumptions.

“It’s about love. How love is only for the brave. Only those willing to take risks. It’s about how it’s going to be hard and there’s going to be messy days, but we stay brave, yeah? You have to stay brave.” He reaches over, touches Harry’s ankle with a watery smile.

“Messy.” Harry repeats softly, setting the notepad down and wiping his eyes again. It’s a word they’ve said since the beginning. It sure has been messy, every single day, but god knows it’s been really fucking worth it.

Louis offers his hand with a sniffle, and Harry is confused for moment, until he settles his palm against his. He inhales sharply at the overwhelming emotions Louis is feeling. Pride, love, bravery. It seeps right into him like he’s a sponge, and immediately he laughs, dizzy with how strong it is.

No words are needed. The boy pulls him in, and they embrace right there in their empty house, surrounded by balled up papers and empty mugs, sharing emotions for hours.

-

After Louis catches up on sleep, they drive back into the city for lunch, going through a simple drive-thru to avoid being recognised, and parking in front of a dog park while they eat right there in the car. The mood is easily lifted after Louis’ song, and Harry finds himself quite distracted being happy. Especially when after lunch Louis takes him to a furniture store, caught right in the middle of London and definitely somewhere they could get mobbed at.

Still, Louis leads him inside, and they’re immediately ushered in, door locking behind them.

“Cameron!” Louis laughs, stepping inside and giving a hug to an older man, all greyed and smiling.

“Louis, I was wondering if I’d ever see your face ‘round here again.” The man, Cameron, laughs. Harry looks around the front of the store, surrounded by bed displays and walls of towels. The store is, well, empty.

“Lou, did you book the whole store?” He asks, and the young employee who’d locked the door chuckles.

“Yes, you have free-range for two hours. Mr. Tomlinson wanted to ensure you could shop in peace.” She says, grinning ear to ear. Harry didn’t even know booking a furniture shop was a thing he could do. Money talks, that’s for sure.

“Yeah, H, this is the store who furnished my first flat here. Promised Cameron here I’d come back when I bought a house—oh right!” Louis laughs, talking a mile a minute and overexcited. He takes Harry’s hand, gently pulling him up to Cameron when he realises he never did introductions.

“Harry, this is Cameron, he’s here to make sure I don’t buy god awful purple drapes again. Cameron, this is my fiancé Harry.”

“He’s even prettier than you described!” Cameron laughs, and they’re shaking hands and Harry vaguely hears himself saying some sort of greeting but it’s sort of hard to feel or hear or speak coherently when he realises what Louis’ just said.

Fiancé. Fiancé? _Fiancé_.

Cameron and Louis catch up loudly as they start over towards the bed posts, and Harry shuffles along dazedly. He racks his mind, desperately trying to remember when Louis proposed. Surely he’d remember his whole arse boyfriend proposing, right? Was he high or something? Was the song him proposing? Was he slipped a ring while he was asleep? He looks down at his fingers, but there’s no new band.

“Alright, love?” Louis asks, and Harry looks up from his hands, realising he’s just sort of stopped in the middle of the aisle.

“Yeah!” Harry says a little too brightly, catching up with a breathless laugh. Louis takes his hand, eyes questioning but not voicing it in front of everyone.

Harry takes a deep breath, and decides to put his freak out on rain cheque.

-

The thing with postponing a freak out, is it’s sort of hard to do so when he’s _freaking out_.

They order furniture for pretty much every room in the house during those two hours, and Harry is able to put his questions aside the entire time, despite the thumping of his heart every time Louis smiles or looks at him or fucking breathes.

The moment they’re back in the car, his leg starts to bounce.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” Louis asks, setting a hand on his thigh as they drive. Harry sinks his teeth in his lip, looking down at his hand. His very much un-ringed hand.

“Just, I dunno, excited?” Harry says, fiddling with the radio so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye. Louis chuckles, hand tightening on him.

“Me too. It’s not second thoughts, then?”

Harry startles a bit, eyebrows furrowing as he looks over. Louis is smiling a bit half-heartedly.

“Of course not, Lou. I love our house, I can’t wait to christen every new piece of furniture we get.”

Louis laughs, eyes all crinkly and teeth so shiny. Just the perfect picture of happy. Harry watches him with a soft smile, and fiddles with his ring finger. Surely he wouldn’t have missed a proposal? Louis would’ve told him he was proposing, right? He would’ve asked the exact question?

-

“Mum, did Louis ask for your blessing recently?” Harry rushes into the phone receiver, stood on the cold back porch, eyes on Louis’ sleeping form through the large glass wall, the duvet only up to his hip, leaving the bare dip in his waist on full display.

“Harry..it’s one in the morning.” Mum replies, voice warm but tired.

“I know, I’m sorry, but today he introduced me as his fiancé, but I can’t seem to remember him proposing, so I’m trying to figure out when he did it without actually telling me?”

The other line is quiet for just a few seconds too long, then,

“I mean. Yeah, he FaceTimed Gemma and I and got both of our blessings, but that was ages ago.”

“When? Can you check the date?” Harry asks breathlessly. There hasn’t been many times he and Louis have been apart in sort of the entire time they’ve known each other. When did he FaceTime his family without him realising?

“Sure,” mum laughs, seeming to be amused, and there’s a bit of rustling as she pulls the phone from her ear to check, “November 10th. Are you sure he proposed? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Just figuring something out.” They talk for a bit longer, and Harry stares down at his wrist with a flutter in his stomach. The moment they hang up, he steps back inside and settles on his knees next to Louis’ sleeping form, and picks up his dainty wrist, tracing the pattern of the rope around it. November 10th. The day Louis got the tattoo to match his. New York.

“Mm?” Louis mumbles, half asleep, hand twitching in his hold but not enough to wake up.

“Lou. Wake up.” Harry shakes him until Louis’ eyes flutter. He squints at the rather dim light filtering in from the kitchen, and lifts his head when he sees Harry’s all sat up and probably looking serious.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean, it’s not a bad thing, I just, I need to ask.”

“Do it, then.” Louis rasps, moving his wrist around so he can hold Harry’s hand, eyebrows knitting in confusion, worry drifting through him sluggishly as he’s still waking up.

“You introduced me as your fiancé today. To Cameron.” Harry says carefully, non-accusing. Louis blinks, reaching up to rub at his eye with a fist. He’s so cute.

“Did I?”

“Yeah. And now I’m freaking out because I think I may have missed you proposing but that doesn’t sound like something I’d do—“

“Okay, take a breath,” Louis sits up with a breathless laugh, pulling him closer, “I didn’t even realise I’d said it. Do you really think I’d propose and not ask the question straightforward?”

“I don’t know! We haven’t exactly talked about proposal preferences.” Harry says exasperatedly, cheeks flushing hot.

“Well c’mere and tell me what you’d like then.” Louis lies back down, tugging at his hand. Harry smiles, tucking himself under the duvet alongside him, limbs tangling and lips pressing to his soft skin.

“I dunno. I guess I don’t really fancy those over-the-top filmed proposals with too many people. I haven’t really thought about it much, if I’m honest.”

“You’ve never thought about how you’d like a proposal to go?” Louis asks, chest rumbling as he talks and his following chuckle sounding fond. Harry snuggles in closer and hides his embarrassed smile.

“When I was a kid, yeah. I once ate an orange before bed and then dreamed of getting proposed to under an orange tree. Isn’t that silly?” His eyes droop a bit, because it is definitely late.

“‘S cute, actually. Don’t worry, you’ll know I’m proposing when I do.” Louis murmurs, voice sounding sleepy as well. Harry smiles and closes his eyes, completely comfortable in their empty house, and falls asleep within a few minutes, content knowing he hasn’t missed such a huge step in their relationship.

Louis listens to his lovely boyfriend’s breathing even out, still smiling, heart fluttering as he thinks of the small velvet box he’s had hidden in his duffel ever since New York.

He reaches over the edge of the mattress carefully, and sends a text with shaky fingers, before shutting his eyes for sleep. It takes a while to come, then, with the nervous flipping of his stomach.

-

“We could just order them online, they have an online catalog.” Harry suggests the next morning as Louis drives them towards a plant farm so they can furnish the house with more than just base furniture.

“But this way we can actually see the plants. Where’s your sense of adventure, Harold?” Louis asks, looking at him for definitely too long with the speed he’s flying down the freeway at.

“Mostly I’m just afraid for my life with your reckless driving.” Harry closes his phone and looks over the boy’s form. Despite his terrible driving skills, he’s quite hot in the driver’s seat, thighs splayed out, sunnies perched on his nose, one hand on the wheel and the other touching Harry’s over the centre console.

“I’ll admit most of my driving experience consists of stealing golf carts in various stadiums.” Louis sighs and flutters his eyelashes under his lenses. Harry giggles, touching at the spade on his wrist tattoo.

“How are you still allowed to roam without security with the amount of petty crime you commit?” Harry wonders, and Louis laughs, pinching him lightly.

“Snitch and I won’t let you get a single bonsai tree.”

“You wouldn’t!” Harry gasps dramatically, head tipping back against the seat. The moment his eyes fall from the boy, a spike of nervousness erupts in him. Harry lifts his head, heart thumping as he thinks they may be about to wreck, but he finds they’re pulling into the park of the plant farm. There’s adrenaline flying through him, and Harry swallows thickly when Louis takes his hand away, a little too quickly to be anything but him not wanting to be read.

Instantly, he thinks it may be something to do with him indirectly being the reason Louis died multiple times.

Maybe it’s the commitment? Louis takes off his frames, eyes glassy as he looks at the entrance to the farm in front of them.

“Lou—“ he starts, ready to apologise again for essentially killing him so many times. Ask if he’s sure he’s okay with it. Ask if he is going to need space after learning that at some point.

“Nope. None of that today,” Louis twists in his seat, takes Harry’s face in his hands and smooths out the wrinkle between his eyebrows, “dunno what you’re about to ask me, but I’m so completely happy right now and I’d love nothing more than to walk in here and order a million plants for our home for me to kill and you to rejuvenate.”

Harry laughs, can’t exactly help it. Louis grins in response, leaning in and kissing him gently.

“Let’s go.” He murmurs against his lips, then steps out of the car a bit too excitedly. If he’s not sad, what else could it be? Harry follows along as they step inside. The lobby is gorgeous, with various potted plants surrounding the front desk, a pretty fountain right in the middle of the room.

“Ah, Mr. Tomlinson?” A middle aged woman asks, approaching them with a clipboard in her hand.

“Louis, please, good morning. This is Harry.” Louis tugs Harry closer by his hip, smile blinding and breath-catching. Harry’s not the only one who notices, either. The woman hands them a pamphlet and a pen, eyes wide and shiny on Louis, but the boy is busy looking down at the pamphlet.

“Alright. In there is a map of the grounds, and on each fold is a catalog of what each section holds. When you find a plant you want, you just write the tagged number next to the section and when you come back up here we’ll place your order and calculate shipping.” She rattles off with a smile, and Louis nods along, seeming distracted even as he listens.

“Great, thank you.” Harry answers for him, and then they’re off, walking through the lobby and into the first section, which holds smaller potted plants like cactus and small flowers.

They explore through the sections, finding lovely ferns for the den, a bonsai tree for the back patio, and spend ten minutes at the pine tree starters wondering if they want to start their own backyard Christmas tree business.

Half of the sections are outside, rows upon rows of various plants, starters, and then eventually, even fully grown trees.

“Are we lost?” Louis wonders, walking a half step in front of him. They pass up row 28F so Harry hooks a finger in Louis’ belt loop so he won’t get left behind as he opens the pamphlet up to the map. He hums as he looks through the sections to find the row they’ve just passed. It takes a good minute to find the row, stepping in time behind the boy as they turn and walk through the grass.

“Oh, found it! We’re in the section of fully grown trees that—“ Harry cuts off when Louis very abruptly stops. He looks up from the map to him, startled, hand falling from his belt loop as he looks around. They’re surrounded by bark, standing under rows upon rows of neatly planted trees.

“Lou?” Harry asks in confusion when Louis takes the pamphlet from him, folding it up and tucking it in his back pocket. There’s something etched across the boy’s face. Like a nervousness, but it’s not like when they have a big telly interview or some hyped up gig. It seems more than that.

Louis takes a breath, and then lifts his hand, pointing up between them. Harry follows the point, and smiles gleefully when he finds they’re stood under a large orange tree. There’s a nicely ripened orange just above their heads. He reaches up to pick it, but falters.

“Are we allowed to—“ Harry chokes off into a gasp when he looks back down to find Louis’ fallen to his knee. One knee. He’s kneeling, to be specific. Kneeling in a way that can only mean one thing.

All at once, Harry realises just how oblivious he’s been today. Louis’ nervousness, his too-smiley persona, the fact that they came out to the fully grown trees despite not needing any. Not even a full day after telling him about his childhood dream of being proposed to under an orange tree. How could he not realise this was happening?

Louis reaches into his pocket, and brandishes a small black box that can only be one thing. He opens his mouth, then makes a soft noise and lifts his hand, offering it much like he did in their studio. He wants to be read.

Harry breaks out of his frozen shock and places his hand in his, blinking at the wave of emotions that pass over him. Everything. It’s everything. Louis doesn’t need to say a single word, doesn’t need to drag out some long cheesy speech. Harry can feel everything he wants to say. Can feel the overwhelming love crashing through ever fibre of his being.

“Harry Styles,” Louis rasps, eyes decidedly glossy, “will you marry me?”

“Yes, _yes yes yes_.” Harry sobs, and falls to his knees as well, tackling Louis right into the soft grass below them, kissing him, barely able to keep it up properly with the way he’s smiling so wide.

Louis laughs breathlessly and takes his hand, slipping on the ring. It’s not too extra, but not too plain either. It’s perfect. So exactly what he likes, more than he ever thought he could like a piece of jewellery. Harry will have to ask later when he even got his ring size.

“I love you.” He says, pulling back to see his eyes, hand snaking under his shirt to press against the handprint over his heart. He wants how he feels right now to be known. Doesn’t have the proper words to express it. Louis’ eyes go a bit fuzzy as he feels it, eyes crinkling.

“I love you,” he replies, so much happiness flowing through him it’s dizzying, “you ready to place the order for our home’s plants, fiancé?”

Harry giggles, standing up and pulling Louis along, kissing him again because he’s just gotten engaged and he never knew it would feel this good. Never knew he could be even happier than he was yesterday and the day before and the day before that.

“Quite ready, fiancé.” He replies. Louis giggles and reaches up above them, picking the orange he never did and looping their arms together.

Harry peels the orange and they share the lovely fruit, his new shiny ring glistening in the soft January sun. His magic sizzles happily with the amount of joy flying through the air between them.

They walk arm in arm through the pretty aisles of trees, out of the farm, and onto forever.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope nobody notices the unfairly copious amounts of 1d and L&H song references throughout the fic hahaha...
> 
> On a more serious note, I’ve been feeling shitty lately so writing this really helped keep my mind preoccupied. I have this site and this ship I love writing to get lost in and forget, but I know many others aren’t so lucky to find something that can do that for them. If anyone needs to rant, talk about Larry, ask about fics, or just simply need a friend, my insta dms are always always OPEN: ohpleaselarry 💚


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